


Never Welcome Here

by ThePerk42



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: FTM, Gen, Gender Issues, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-28
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-17 07:52:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1379791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePerk42/pseuds/ThePerk42
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl lives his life hiding a secret that affects him more now than ever in the face of a crumbling civilization. How will this change the way he experiences his relationships and deals with his problems after the end of the world as he knows it?</p>
<p>Written for a(n old!) prompt at TWD Kink meme: "All of Merle's taunting in the episode before last got me thinking. What if Daryl had actually been born as Darla?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This story is canon compliant up to 4x15 and as such, may contain spoilers for any and all episodes, as well as the video game "Walking Dead: Survival Instinct".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Generalizations

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this some time ago, but was extremely hesitant to publish it. I am aware that the following subject matter is extremely sensitive and can be upsetting for some. When I saw the prompt on the kink meme, I decided to post it, but am still feeling some trepidation. I have worked/ will continue to work very hard to do justice to this subject and handle it tactfully. If anyone reading it feels that I am not handling it in a respectful manner, I would beg you to let me know so that I can rectify the situation. 
> 
> While this story was published because of a prompt on the kink meme, that is not it's sole (or original) birthing point and I would hate for it to come across as a shallow interpretation of the real struggle people face every day.
> 
> That all being said, I hope you're still entertained when reading this and take enjoyment from it.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! :)

**“Being born as a female in a home like yours generally results in one of two outcomes.”**

 

            The bike runs out of gas halfway to their destination.

            Daryl shakes his head at a sound and continues to rummage through dusty pharmacy shelves. He’s picking up bottles and quickly reading the labels before muttering to himself and dropping them to the floor. A few shatter when they land and he makes no effort to side step the broken glass while shuffling along.

            “Hurry the fuck up!” Merle’s voice echoes sharp and clear from outside, making Daryl jump.

            Daryl doesn’t know what any of the shit on these bottles means, but he’ll know the right one when he finds it. “I’m goin’ as fast as I can!” Daryl shouts back at his brother, moving onto the next row of shelves. The place has pretty much been picked clean and it’s asking a lot to think that some little hickville pharmacy might have what he needs. But _his_ hickville pharmacy carried a minimal supply for Daryl, so he’s still allowing himself a small amount of hope.

            “Convenience store’s been picked clean. But I found a gallon or so of gas.” Merle coughs and there’s a loud thump as he presumably takes down one of the walkers (that’s what Merle’s taken to calling them, at least). “Don’t matter if you can’t find any. I remember what it was like before. I don’t care.”

            Daryl stops searching and allows himself a moment to chew on his thumbnail in frustration. “I’m almost done lookin’.”

            “What makes you think you’re gonna find anything, baby brother? Ain’t many people out there like you.”

            “Would you shut up? Just gimme a minute.” Daryl knows that there’s no way they’ll be able to stop at every pharmacy they see. There has to be something here, or he’s going to be royally fucked. He punches the side of shelf in frustration, crushing a useless bottle in his fist. “God damn it!” His hand burns from the glass he’s pushed into it and he flexes his fingers, ignoring the pain. A bottle rattles and rolls off the shelf Daryl’s just assaulted. He bends to pick it up scans the label, feeling remarkably grateful that it isn’t broken.

            “I’m just sayin’, pretty crazy to be riskin’ our necks for some hormones, just so you can feel all perfect about yourself.” Merle carries on as Daryl raids the shelf. “Fuck it, I say.”

            Six vials. 200 mgs each. Usually, they would last him six months, but he’s sure he can push them to a year. He shoves them into his bag and crouches to pick up the stack of sterile needles before heading outside. “Fuck you,” he snaps. “I found some.” Merle snorts at him and they squish onto the bike. “Let’s go.”

 

                **“What do you mean, two outcomes?”**

**“Two possible results. Well, major results.”**

**“I know what outcome means. But there’s gotta be more than two.”**

 

            “See that camp up there?” Merle points at a few dots of fire at the very top of the quarry. Someone who wasn’t looking, or who didn’t have a trained eye, never would have noticed them in the daylight. Daryl shifts on the bike to look around his brother’s shoulder.

            “What about it?”

            “Big camp. I noticed them movin’ stuff up there when I was on my way to save your ass. At least five families – food, campin’ gear. There’s some dumb shit who brought one a them fancy camper vans.”

            “Uh huh,” Daryl frowns. “What’s it to you? You hate bein’ around people anyways. And I ain’t feelin’ too social right now, either.”

            “They got all that shit up there. There’s some Chinese fucker and a couple a Mexicans up there, too. How come they get the good life while we’re ridin’ around on one motorcycle and you gotta sit bitch?”

            “You wanna steal from them?”

            “There’s too many of them to just go up and take it. You know they’ll always have someone on watch. I say we go in real nice and friendly like, tell ‘em we need a group and offer our services, the like. Make off with the good stuff once we’ve had a chance to figure out what it is.”

            The plan isn’t to Daryl’s liking. He’s never been fond of stealing unless he has to. But if he’s honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind eating something other than rabbit or snake for a while. And the idea of making off with a car, or a truck, so he doesn’t have to sit wedged up against Merle all of the time? Merle must feel Daryl nod his head, because in seconds the bike is revving and motoring them up the incline towards the camp.           

* * *

             Merle isn’t wrong. There’s a big group there – more than Daryl has the chance to meet when they first arrive. A lady and her husband seem to be runnin’ the place – he’s a cop…or was, before everything turned to shit. They have a kid, who’s friends with the few other kids around. Seems they were all heading into Atlanta when they realized the evacuation wasn’t really happening and one of them had the bright idea to head up the hill. The others followed.

            “Dale has a spare tent in his Winnebago you guys can use, if you'd like.” Some young, blonde chick is trying to help Merle and Daryl settle in, and true to his form, Merle can’t help but be a prick right from the get go.

            “Some other things I’d like to _use_ ,” Merle says, leering at her. She’s probably half of Merle’s age and frowns at him, like she’s trying to pretend she doesn’t understand what he means.

            “We’ll be okay,” Daryl says, stepping in between them. “We got our own gear. Just need to know where to set up.” There’s an empty spot not too far from one of the fires where they throw their tent up in the fading daylight – the tent they found in the trunk of some burnt out car. They don’t have anything to sleep on, though, and the blonde girl manages to find some blankets for them.

            “We don’t have much to eat,” she tells them, “but I can tell you guys don’t have much in the way of anything. You’re welcome to share with us.”

            “We’re both pretty good at huntin’,” Merle says, leading the way over to one of the fire pits. Daryl follows, looking around at the rest of the group – everyone’s watching him and his brother with keen, cautious eyes. “Tomorrow we could find y’all somethin’ real to eat.”

            Daryl drops his body onto one of the logs by the fire – he hadn’t realized how exhausted he felt until now. He hasn’t slept in a long time – from the hunting trip where everything went to hell to now, it’s been around four days. And through all of it, he might have slept a total of five or six hours, while other people were driving.

            The lady who seems to be leading the camp brings over two plates. “It’s late, and it’s gettin’ dark.” She smiles down at Daryl, but there’s something in her smile that tells him he’s on watch. They both are. “We’re about to put out the fire – don’t want to draw any unwelcome company after dark.”

            “That’s alright,” Daryl says, “We’ve been goin’ for days. Since this all started.”

            “We’ll do introductions tomorrow.” Another blonde chick – looks a little older than the first one – walks up. Her voice is authoritative and Daryl cocks his head to look at her. She could turn out to be a problem. “When you’re done with the plates, throw them on the fire and then put it out.”

            Daryl nods – Merle’s already done shoveling his meager portion of food down and chucks his plate into the fire. He rises and lets out a belch before heading to the tent without a word to anyone, so Daryl answers. “Will do. Thanks for the food.”

            “Keep your friend’s promise about hunting for us, and we’ll be thanking you.” She turns on her heel and walks away from the fire.

* * *

            The next morning sees Daryl rise earlier than he expected to, with how exhausted he had felt the night before. There’s the noise of people living their lives just outside the tent, talking and clanging pots together, shuffling about. He rolls over and Merle’s side of the tent is empty which gives Daryl plenty of space to get properly dressed before he unzips the tent flap and climbs out.

            “Mornin’,” the lady who brought him food last night smiles up at him from where she’s washing some clothes. “Ready to meet everyone?”

            Daryl makes a grunting noise that could be taken either way, really. “You know where my brother is?”

            “He left already. Said he didn’t want to waste daylight waitin’ for you. Said you’d be able to find him.”

            “I should go.” Daryl adjusts him crossbow on his back and heads in the direction the woman pointed.

            Merle’s not far from the camp when Daryl finds him, hunkered down and watching a small body of water through a thick branch of leaves. It can’t be any later than 9 in the morning and the heat’s already heavy around them. Daryl can feel sweat dripping steadily down his temples as he squats down beside Merle.

            “Why didn’t you wake me?” he murmurs, quiet enough that he won’t scare whatever his brother’s watching.

            “Didn’t think you’d wanna come on this hunting trip.”

            Daryl looks sideways at his brother. “Why?”

            “Ain’t hunting to eat.” The older blonde girl pops up from under the water with a quiet splash and runs her hands down her face.

            “What the fuck, Merle?” Daryl turns away from the scene when he realizes she’s climbing out of the water. “You want them to know you’re a fucking perv already?”

            “No one’s gonna know,” Merle whispers, turning to face his brother as the woman dresses herself. “This is why I didn’t bring you. Knew you’d just be a pussy about it.”

            “I’m not bein’ a pussy. You wanna get kicked out before we get anythin’ for our trouble?” Daryl risks a glance back at the water and sees the blonde girl is leaving. “Come on,” he spits. “Let’s go get somethin’ to eat.”

* * *

            That night, they’re all sitting around the campfire, devouring the deer that Merle and Daryl took down. Daryl’s forgotten just how quickly a large group of people can put away a small doe, but the company makes him feel momentarily safer – before he remembers Merle’s plan and feels a punch of guilt in his gut. There’s women here…kids. He glances sideways at Merle, who takes a swig from his beer bottle and grins at him.

            The conversation has died down somewhat and Merle’s got a twinkle in his eyes that makes Daryl squirm in his seat. “Hey, baby brother,” Merle says and Daryl knows he should have seen this coming. Merle’s going to say something to embarrass him in front of all of these people. “Why don’t you tell everyone about the night you saw the chupacabra?”

            Daryl winces but raises his head. No one ever believes he saw one, but it was as real as the plate on his knee is now. “Ain’t much to tell, really.”

            “What’s a chupacabra?” Lori, the lady who Daryl clearly recognizes as the leader of the camp now, asks with a frown.

            “Goat sucking monster,” the younger blonde chick says. Her name is Amy and Daryl is still deciding whether or not to tell her and her sister that he met their parents. “They’re not real. Urban legend.”

            “It was real,” Daryl defends himself. “I was out huntin’ and I saw it there, on the side of the hill.” Daryl points to a tree about 50 yards from the group. “No further from me than that tree is, just devourin’ a goat. Suckin' its face clean off.”

            “That’s not possible,” Andrea scoffs, tossing her empty beer bottle into the fire pit. “It’s just a myth. Like Amy said, they’re not real.”

            “I saw what I saw,” Daryl says, ignoring Merle’s undisguised guffaw. “Plain as you, sittin’ just in front of me. It was real.”

**“Either they are doted upon, as an unexpected and adored gift, or…”**

**“Or what?”**


	2. Startled Noises

**“Either they are doted upon, as an unexpected and adored gift, or…”**

**“Or what?”**

            It’s been two weeks since his last injection and even though he has minimal supplies, Daryl knows he can’t push his limit any further. He’s been feeling more and more exhausted every day for the last four days, sleeping more often and for longer all of the time. He’s feeling anxious and can’t help watching everyone for signs that they may be noticing a change in him. To his credit, Merle hasn’t said anything – although it could just be because he’s never really known how to handle this situation. He generally avoids talking about Daryl’s gender all together.

            The other people at the campsite know something’s up – but they just keep asking Daryl if he’s feeling alright. It isn’t until Shane pulls him aside, though, that Daryl knows it’s time to buck up and take the shot. “You sick?” Shane asks, after cornering Daryl at the edge of the camp. “Glenn’s going on a run today, he can pick something up for you.”

            “I don’t need anythin’.” Shane cuts an imposing figure, but he won’t scare Daryl into making up a story _or_ confessing. “I’m fine.”

            His actions are in conflict with his statement, though, when he turns and strides to his tent, zipping the flap shut behind him. Daryl can hear Shane’s muffled voice talking with Lori just outside as he unzips and drops his pants. He reaches into his bag and pulls out one of the glass bottles, wrapped in a t-shirt to keep it from cracking. A syringe follows and he rips off the plastic seal before staring at the needle. He’s not going to die from using a filthy needle – not now. It looks clean enough, but he wipes off the top of the bottle before inserting the syringe and drawing out his dosage.

            He sits on his blanket and tips his body to the side, sinking the needle into his flank with a squint. The injection takes almost no time at all, and mere seconds pass before he’s wrapping the bottle back up in the shirt and tucking it away at the bottom of his bag. It’s probably purely psychological, but he’s starting to feel better even as he tugs on his pants and caps the syringe. He’ll go find Merle and get rid of the needle in the woods.

            When he comes out of the tent, Shane and Lori are arguing about something (hopefully not his health) and he’s going to skirt by, but the woman reaches out and grabs him. “Daryl, tell Shane. Tell him we’ve gotta put some signs on the road by Atlanta. We’ve gotta warn people.”

            Daryl stares for a moment, unsure if he’s supposed to side with her just because he was walking by, or if she actually thinks he’d agree with her. “We don’t gotta do nothin’,” he says. Shane nods at him, looking grateful. “But maybe the Chinese kid would put some up when he’s in town?” Lori glares at him and shakes her head before turning back to Shane. She continues her tirade and Daryl knows his part has been played, so he leaves and heads for the bush.

 

**“Or they’re treated like play things. Abused. Used by their family.”**

**“Are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”**

            It’s hard for Daryl, sitting in the front of the box van next to Rick, to fathom not having his brother around. Merle’s a dick and he’s rude and pretty much everyone at the camp only puts up with him because of his ability to hunt and track, but he’s the only man Daryl can trust. The only person who knew Daryl’s secret and never turned on him because of it. Daryl bites his thumbnail and looks out the window. They’ve gotta find Merle. They’ve got to.

            But then the hunt for Merle turns into a fucking shit show. It’s hard for Daryl to hold back when they find his brother’s hand on the roof so he turns to lash out at T-Dog. After an intervention from Rick, Daryl bites his tongue and asks for something to put his brother’s hand in – because he’ll be damned if he’s leaving part of his brother behind.

            As they walk through the building, finding signs of Merle’s escape, Daryl realizes it could be far worse. He’s lost and found his brother once already during this apocalypse – he’ll find him again. And Merle’s gonna be just fine out there – they can handle themselves, Dixon men.

            When they go to get the guns and the Korean kid gets kidnapped, Daryl can’t help the biting sensation in his gut. The longer they wait to find Merle, the further he’ll be from them.

            By the time they finally get Glenn back and return to the camp, Daryl’s exhausted and all he wants to do is sleep, but as they trek up the hill, it’s clear something’s wrong. There’s screaming and the now familiar sounds of metal hitting solid matter. All four men look at each other before hastening up the hill to join the fray. There isn’t much fighting left to be done once they arrive and Rick’s guns make short work of the remaining walkers, but Daryl knows – once he sees Andrea curled over her bloody sister – they won’t be staying here. They’re leaving – with or without Merle. 

* * *

 

            The next morning comes fast- light peaking over the crags of the quarry – and Daryl feels exhausted at the lack of adrenaline. His body is drained and he’s allowing himself to be quietly concerned about Merle. The man can take care of himself, no question, but he’s out there with no gear and missing a fucking hand. Daryl isn’t stupid – he knows the camp won’t miss him. They’ll be content to rely solely on Daryl for hunting and they’re probably happy to shot of his mouthy brother.

            Despite his concern and complete lack of energy, Daryl pushes himself to help rid the camp of the dead bodies.At the very least, the work keeps him from thinking about much else and falling over himself. He keeps to himself, other than a small spat with Glenn about where the dead should go, until they find out that Jim’s been bitten.

            Jacqui and Jim are moving a body together when she suddenly staggers away from him and announces, “A walker got him. A walker bit Jim!” He backs away from her slowly and when no one else seems to be inclined to respond, Daryl waves his arm.

            “Show it to us.” He lowers his ax from its resting place on his shoulder and ignores Jim’s murmurs. “Show it to us,” he says, just on the quiet side of shouting. Everyone starts talking when Jim picks up a shovel to defend himself, and Shane insists he shows them.

            He doesn’t seem violent, but T-Dog grabs him from behind and the shovel drops with a dull clang. “I’m okay,” Jim insists. “I’m okay.” But when Daryl lifts up his shirt, there’s an angry, red ring of teeth marks on the man’s stomach. Daryl drops his shirt immediately and backs away, feeling bile rise in his throat. _Jesus._ Jim’s still carrying on with his stupid mantra. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I’m okay.” T-Dog shoves away from him with a grunt and it’s clear Daryl’s not the only one who doesn’t know what to say (which isn’t new for him at all). The whole group stands in a semi-circle around Jim, who’s dancing on his feet, a broken record. “I’m okay,” he keeps repeating, looking from face to face. “I’m okay, I’m okay.” Daryl picks up his ax cautiously and watches while Lori guides Jim to sit on a log.

            A group of them gather in a circle – it’s clear they need to make a decision, but after standing in silence for a few moments, Daryl realizes no one’s going to say what needs to be said. “I say we put a pick ax in his head,” he announces. “And the dead girl’s, and be done with it.” He knows it’s the right thing to do – it’s the only thing to do. And maybe these other people can’t stomach it, but it doesn’t matter what their collective conscious says – they can’t have people turning in the middle of eating dinner.

            “That what you’d want? If it were you?” Shane asks, staring him down. Daryl’s never really managed to get a good read on the guy – and is especially thrown by him since the return of Rick, but he knows Shane agrees with him. He can see it in the guy’s eyes – no matter what he’s saying with his mouth.

            “Yeah, and I’d thank you while you did it.”

            Dale speaks up, and Daryl knows it’s gonna be a load of shit from the old man’s mouth. “I hate to say it, I never thought I would, but maybe Daryl’s right.”

            “Jim’s not a monster, Dale, or some rabid dog.” Rick is angry, Daryl can tell. But regardless of what all these people are feeling, they’ve got to put them down. Amy and Jim. They’ve got to keep everyone else safe.

            “I’m not suggesting he is!”

            Rick starts talking over Dale, about people being sick and drawing lines.

            Daryl’s heard enough and cuts in over the chatter. “The line’s pretty clear. Zero tolerance for walkers. Or the to be.” That’s the way it has been, and that’s the way it should be. Hell, he killed his Uncle Jess when the time came. Sometimes, you just gotta do what has to be done. Carol seems uncomfortable standing next to him and looks off to the side.

            “What if we can get him help?” Rick asks. Jesus – the guy is smart and reasonable most of the time, but sometimes he can be so damn stupid. “I heard the CDC was workin’ on a cure.” Shane and Rick start having an argument about the CDC and its existence – whether it’s even still there.

            Daryl’s trying to let them sort it out – he doesn’t need to make any final calls or decisions. He’s happy to let those choices rest in other hands. But their bickering has nothing to do with the two looming walkers in their midst. He starts biting his lip and glances over at Jim, letting the sight of the potential threat drown out the arguing cops for a moment. They start talking about Fort Benning and Daryl knows that no one’s gonna make any final calls or decisions. Not today. And there’s no way he’s sleeping or travelling with a ticking time bomb anywhere near him. His anger overwhelms him and he releases his lower lip.

            “You go lookin’ for aspirin,” he says, starting to back out of the circle. “Do what you _need_ to do. Somebody needs to have some balls and take care of this damn problem!” He raises his ax to swing it, but Rick’s gun is already cocked and held to the back of his head before he can do anything.

            “We don’t. Kill. The living.”

            Daryl’s ax is still poised to swing, but Rick’s behind him, and Shane steps in front of Jim to stand guard. He might be pissed, but Daryl knows when he’s beat. He lowers his weapon and turns to level Rick with a stare, looking past the barrel of the gun. “That’s funny,” he says. He moves so that the gun is pointing directly at his forehead. “Comin’ from a man who just put a gun to my head.”

            “We may disagree on some things,” Shane says. Daryl jerks his head around to look at him. “But not on this. You put it down.” Daryl feels a quick flare of anger burst in him. He’s a grown man and won’t be talked down to. Not by anybody – especially not now. But there’s still a gun to his head and Shane is stronger than him any day. With a final grunt of defiance, he shoves the head of the ax into the dirt and stalks away.

            Rick’s ushering Jim to “safety” and Andrea’s still squatting over Amy. Daryl can’t handle these people and steers himself toward the head of the RV where there's a pile of untended dead bodies. There’s a few slain walkers there, and the half-eaten carcass of Ed Peletier. He starts swinging the ax into each of them, making sure that they're down for the count and just when he's ripping it out of one of the walker’s heads, he can hear Carol’s steady shuffle, her feet dragging her body towards him. He glances up at her – he’s never given the woman much thought, if he’s honest with himself. She’s meek and quiet and weak in her actions, but he’s seen women like her before and knows she has to have some strength, somewhere, to have raised a daughter with a man like her husband around.

            “I’ll do it,” she mutters. “He’s my husband.” She’s looking down at his body with a broken expression and she’s so small, Daryl’s not even sure if she can swing the ax with enough force to crack the man’s skull. He looks at her with a dubious expression, but eventually gives in to his internal argument and holds the tool out for her. She takes it from him and he steps back to give her some room. The tool is clearly weighing heavy in her hands – she struggles to lift it properly. But Daryl can tell this is something she wants – needs – to do on her own. She’s already starting to whimper as she pulls the ax back, up and over her shoulder and with the first swing she lets out a small shout. The ax drops, heavy, impacting the man’s head and brain matter spatters on the ground.

            She pulls the it from his skull and mutters with the effort. The act is complete – the bone is split clean in two from the force of blow, but she levers the ax up again and swings it down once more, this time with more force and a louder cry. She swings it down three more times, letting out a final cry, before stopping.

            Daryl watches her with hesitation, remembering his father’s death. He wonders if he would have been able to take an ax to the man’s skull – if he would have swung the heavy weapon five times and looked down at his father’s decimated corpse and pulled his shoulders in with a whimper. He’s glad Ed’s gone, but he knows what Carol's going through just to be shot of him.

 

**“You have suffered abuse at the hands of your father and also your mother, until age 12 when she died. It’s noted here in your medical file.”**

**“It’s none of your damn business! It has nothing to do with this!”**


	3. Smell as Sweet as

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reception this story has been receiving has honestly surprised me. Thank you so much to everyone who has read, and continues to read this! You guys are awesome.

**“You have suffered abuse at the hands of your father and also your mother, until age 12 when she died. It’s noted here in your medical file.”**

**“It’s none of your damn business! It has nothing to do with this!”**

The water in the shower feels so damn good on his skin. Daryl runs shampoo through his hair and a groan of relief escapes his mouth. He can go for months without showering if he has to, but that doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy the hot water while it’s there. He’s only under the hot stream of water for five minutes, tops, when someone else starts banging on the locked door. Daryl had intentionally waited until he was sure everyone else was done using the communal showers to come and wash, but clearly he wasn’t the only one looking for some alone time.

            “Hang on a minute,” he shouts over the water. He quickly rinses the shampoo from his hair before turning off the tap. He doesn’t have time to dress, because whoever is on the other side of the door is insistently pounding, now, so he ties his towel tightly around his waist and lifts his pile of dirty laundry high, using it as a shield. He opens the door awkwardly, still pressing his clothes to his chest, and Shane brushes past him. There’s a half consumed whiskey bottle in the man’s hand and he pays Daryl no mind as he starts to strip his clothes off.

            Daryl doesn’t stick around to wait for conversation, but hastens to his room – passing no one in the hall.

            The small office has a few empty bookshelves and two pathetic, dead plants. Other than the couch, there is no other furniture. Daryl drops his clothes on the floor and lets out a shaky sigh. He hasn’t had a close call like that in some time (surprisingly) and he can feel his nerves dancing just beneath his skin.

            He toes his laundry out of the way and bends to pick up his bag. In the bottom, there’s an almost empty vial – one last dosage before it’s done. He fishes a syringe out and preps his shot with efficiency before administering the hormones. Daryl can’t help but worry – even though he still has five vials left, they’ll run out one day, and the CDC doesn’t look too close to curing this thing. His insides churn when he considers not being able to find testosterone, having to tell everyone the truth, having to go back to being trapped in his own body. He drops the syringe and newly empty vial to the floor.

            These people don’t really care about him – they’re just using him for food and protection. Why would they care about him? He hasn’t done much for them in the way of anything. He won’t have to tell anyone. When his dosages start to get low, he’ll leave. He won’t carry out Merle’s plan of robbing them blind, but he’ll pack up his stuff and go. Daryl can’t help the dizziness he feels at the thought of not taking testosterone, but at least this new world means that he won’t have to be around other people. No one else will see the mess he’ll become – no one will think of him as any different.

            The light seems to flicker and Daryl swallows a thick sigh before throwing on something to sleep in and flipping the switch. Hopefully he can still get some rest. 

* * *

 

            After a few hours, sleep still eludes Daryl so he rolls off of the couch and decides to wander the premises. He hasn’t had much time, or opportunity, to look around and see what’s what other than the few rooms they’ve all seen together. He puts on his binder and a t-shirt before ducking out of his room into the darkened, quiet hallway.

            He shuffles down the main walkway, intending to head for the workspace which seems to be central to everything else. Through there, he can check out the rest of the CDC without any interruptions. When he gets close to the doorway, he can hear a murmured conversation – a drunk Rick conversing with their host (for want of a better term). Daryl isn’t much of an eavesdropper, he doesn’t have time to pussy foot around, but he stops for a moment, hidden in the shadows, and listens.

            “We’d have died out there,” Rick says. “It was only a matter of time. There’s too many of those things.” Daryl can tell he’s started listening in the middle of a conversation, but he just leans against the wall and strains to hear Rick’s quiet voice. “My…my boy. My wife. I never…I never told ‘em what I really thought. Never even hinted…just…just kept in. Kept ‘em – kept us movin’, you know. Just kept it in. Kept…” Rick is rambling and Daryl rolls his eyes, shoving his hands in his pockets. The ex-sheriff must be drunk on the cheap wine Dr. Jenner gave them, and it’s no surprise. Everyone seems to be getting wasted tonight – and why wouldn’t they?

            The doctor’s voice sounds a little hollow as he reassures Rick. “It’ll all be okay,” he says. It doesn’t sound like he believe himself, but Daryl is sure that Rick is drunk enough to believe the guy. “It’ll be okay.”

            There are a couple minutes of silence and then Daryl can hear Rick struggle to get up, bump into a few desks and make his way towards the door. Not wanting to be caught lurking, Daryl steps forward and into the lit doorway when he hears the man approaching. “Hey man,” Rick says, passing by him with barely a glance. Daryl nods and walks into the command center.

            “Hello,” Jenner says, eyeing Daryl warily. It’s the end of the fucking world and guys like Jenner still don’t want to give Daryl the time of day. He ignores the flush of anger that pumps through him and tries to maintain a calm demeanour – he has a favour to ask of the guy, after all. “Something you need? I think there’s still a bottle of whiskey here, somewhere.”

            Daryl grunts. “If I wanted to get drunk, I’d be trashed by now.” Jenner nods and watches Daryl with a quiet sort of a fascination. He waits in silence while Daryl picks up a computer mouse and toys with the rubber ball on the bottom. It takes a while for Daryl to work up the courage, but finally he looks up and stares Jenner down. “I wanna know if you have any testosterone.”

            “Sorry?” Jenner looks sincerely confused and Daryl’s stomach drops. He doesn’t want to expose his secret to a complete stranger if there isn’t a guarantee of some sort of return. He panics, drops the mouse with a clatter that resonates through the large space and moves to bolt. Maybe Jenner will just assume that he misheard Daryl, maybe he’ll think it was just a drunk hick’s rambling miscommunication. But then some sort of realization seems to dawn on the doctor’s face and he nods. It’s just a tiny inclination of his jaw, but the motion simultaneously uncoils Daryl’s stomach and lowers his blood pressure. “Why would you think we’d have any?” Jenner asks calmly. He doesn’t seem to be accusing Daryl of anything, but the man gets his back up all the same.

            “Was just askin’,” Daryl huffs. His eyes dart around, looking anywhere but at the stranger’s face and he moves to leave the room.

            “Wait.” Jenner’s command is just enough to stop Daryl from leaving, but it doesn’t make him want to stay. “I think we have a few different types. One of my colleagues was testing the effects of various diseases on hormone distribution. I’m not sure how much we have, but you can take it…whatever there is. Not like I have much use for it.” There’s a sort of far away look in Jenner’s eyes that sets Daryl’s nerves on edge, but he just grunts his appreciation and follows Jenner down an unfamiliar hallway.

            Using a keycard, the doctor opens the door to a darkened lab. He reaches into his breast pocket to pull out a small flashlight. Daryl hovers around the entrance to the room, holding the door open so that the light from the hallway can spill in. Jenner shuffles over to a cabinet and flips a latch before swinging it open. There’s a veritable excess of drugs in the cabinet, bottles, tubes, boxes of stuff. Daryl can’t see what any of it is from his position, but Jenner starts pulling various things from the cabinet.

            “Do you have a preferred administration method?”

            “Did I say it was for me?” Daryl tries to keep himself from barking, but Jenner turns to look at him. The stare isn’t quite a glare – it seems more like the doctor’s looking through Daryl, searching for something. Perhaps he doesn’t see what he’s looking for, because he shakes he head and starts to empty the cabinet. He pulls out a little bit of everything and sets it on the counter.

            “You’ve got a few different kinds here – I don’t know how much of a difference it made in the test subjects, but…it wasn’t my project.” He holds up a large bag of what looks like cough drops. “Lozenges, two a day.” Then he picks up one of the boxes. “Patches, one a day.” There’s tube of something, he picks that up next. “Gel, once a day – wash your hands after applying.” Finally he picks up a large bottle – Daryl is reminded of the massive aspirin bottles his aunt used to buy from Costco. “Pills. Terrible for the liver. Deteriorate it fast. But these will last the longest.”

            There’s a cache of the hormone right in front of him. What Jenner’s showing Daryl could last him for ages, provided it doesn’t get too hot or expire. His nerves feel hot – he knows that Jenner isn’t stupid. Not amount of big talk or shit is going to convince the man this isn’t supplies meant for Daryl. Coming to him in the dead of the night was a sure give away. Daryl’s berating himself mentally when the doctor’s words cut through his internal monologue.

            “I have to go now – things to do.” Jenner cocks his head to the side a little, still seemingly wary of Daryl. “You just…take what you need, for…whoever may need it.” Without further ado, he scuttles through the doorway, past Daryl and saunters down the hallway, leaving Daryl alone with the stack of hormones.

 

            **“I’m just saying, it’s definitely a possibility, and one we have to recognize.”**

**“A possibility? You think I feel like this because my daddy _fucked_ me? Lady, he never did nothin’ like that to me. Sure, he beat the shit out of me, but that was all. My daddy ain’t no pervert. And even if he was – this ain’t got nothin’ to do with him.”**

The trip away from the CDC was just one shit storm after another. First the walker horde and then Sophia…Daryl knows they’ll find her and he’s just trying to keep his cool while he guides the group through the woods. They’ve left Rick and Shane back at the church with Carl, while Daryl’s the one guiding Carol (who’s understandably upset), Andrea (who’s still pissed at the world), Lori (who’s trying to keep her shit together), and Glenn (who’s just…Glenn) back to the camp. He knows Rick’s a fool for splitting them up, but ignores the worry in his stomach and focuses on getting the ladies back before there’s a cat-fight.

            He’s keeping a pretty tight lid on it – there’s nothing much to say as they wander through the woods. But when Carol starts worrying about Sophia out loud again, it’s hard for him to hold his tongue. Eventually he stops the conversation by making his opinion clear. “We’re gonna find that little girl,” he says, making it clear that the topic is closed to any further discussion. “And she’s gonna be just fine.”

            But shortly after some woman comes riding out of nowhere on horseback and whisks Lori away with tidings of a wounded son. Daryl has to suspend his concern and lead the remaining group back to camp. 

* * *

 

            When Daryl and the remaining members of the group arrive at the farm the next day, the first sight to greet them is a few people loading rocks into a wheelbarrow. He drives up to the front of the farm house cautiously, unsure of what to expect, until Rick and Lori, followed by the rest, come hurrying out of the house.

            There’s a funeral for Otis – the man who apparently gave his life to save Carl’s. He isn’t sure what to do at the funeral – Daryl crosses his arms over his chest, gripping the armholes of his leather vest. Death is no stranger to Daryl Dixon, but this…putting meaning and purpose in someone’s death, trying to mourn them in a world full of dead reanimated, makes the man markedly uncomfortable. He watches everyone else with a wandering eye, trying to discern how he should act.

 

            When Otis’ girlfriend, -Patricia, Daryl thinks her name is – asks Shane to tell them how and why the man died, Daryl can see the uncomfortable shift in Shane’s stance. His words come out jumbled and broken; his body is taut with unreleased energy. Daryl doesn’t particularly pride himself in reading people well – at least not better than anyone else – but when you’ve lived your life keeping a massive secret, you learn the tricks to hide it from others. And Shane clearly doesn’t know, or isn’t practiced enough, in those tricks. He hiding something, and it’s weighing heavily on the man’s shoulders.           

* * *

 

            The space is massive and seems like a perfect organization point for the group. After the funeral, Daryl decides to move off, away from the epicentre of everyone’s activities. He puts his tent up near an old chimney stack – all that’s left of an old, razed building. He’s close enough that he can be at the main camp quickly to help, but far enough away that he can get the space he’s been aching for.

            It hasn’t been long since he’s lost Merle and most of his brother’s belongings remain in the tent as a reminder of his absence. Daryl’s no idiot – he knows his brother wasn’t a great big brother, but he’s the only real family Daryl’s ever had. He frowns at Merle’s crumpled blanket – which had been thrown, squashed inside of Daryl’s tent, in the back of the Grimes’ truck in haste – before turning off his lantern and closing his eyes. 

* * *

 

            He doesn’t find much on his first day looking for Sophia – a farm house where she might have hunkered down for the evening to feel safe and few Cherokee roses just outside of it. He plucks one, he isn’t sure why, and returns to the farm. His feet, separate of his mind, carry him from his camping spot to the Winnebago. It isn’t until he’s inside that he realizes he’s searching for Carol.

            The place looks clean – cleaner than it has in a long time. Even though the funk of people living in it for days on end is still there (Daryl’s pretty sure no amount of air fresheners can ever get that smell out), it looks good. Carol’s sitting in the back, stitching up a hole in one of their quilts. She offers him a small smile by way of greeting and looks back at her handy work. “Cleaned up,” she says. “Wanted it to be nice for her.”

            “For a second I thought I was in the wrong place,” he says, glancing around the camper van.

            Daryl remembers how his mother acted, until she died, in the face of his father’s abuse. She ignored it when he beat Merle and turned a deaf ear when he said nasty things to Daryl. When she had died, Daryl had mourned her, but only because he was told it was what people did. Now, as an adult, he doesn’t miss her one bit.

            Carol might have married an abusive asshole, and maybe Sophia suffered to watch the shit Ed put his wife through, but Daryl can see it, clear as day. Carol loves her daughter, and would do anything for her. She is the antithesis of everything that Daryl’s mother represented: strong, where she was weak, loving, where she was resentful, caring, where she was absent. His respect for her has grown tenfold in the face of her daughter’s disappearance, but he isn’t sure how to word it.

            So instead, he shifts his feet and gently sets a beer bottle, with the Cherokee rose sitting inside, on the side table in front of Carol. She looks up at him, blinking, clearly confused and unable to take his meaning. “A flower?” she asks him.

            “Cherokee rose,” he says. He looks at her, trying to tell if she understands now. But there’s still a confused look on her face, and he surprises even himself when he jumps into an immediate explanation of the flower’s presence. “Story is, that when American soldiers were movin’ Indians off their land, on the trail of tears, the Cherokee mothers were grievin’ and cryin’ so much ‘cause they were losin’ their little ones along the way: exposure, disease, starvation. A lot of ‘em just disappeared.” Carol watches him closely, still showing no sign of knowing where this explanation is going, so Daryl carries on.

“So the elders, they uh, said a prayer - asked for a sign to uplift the mother’s spirits. Give ‘em strength, hope.” Carol gives the rose her attention once more, and seems now to have more understanding of Daryl’s reasoning. “The next day, this rose started to grow right where the mother’s tears fell. I’m not fool enough to think there’s any flowers bloomin’ for my brother.” She wipes a few silently shed tears from her cheeks, and Daryl – unsure of how to continue – relies on honesty in the face of this woman’s grief. “But, uh, I believe this one…bloomed for your little girl.”

Carol lets out a small huff of air – and Daryl isn’t sure how to take it. She looks back down at the quilt, tears still rolling slowly down her skin, and Daryl heads for the door. Just before leaving, he turns back and the words come forth, unbidden. “She’s gonna really like it in here,” he says. When Carol doesn’t respond, other than a turn of her head, Daryl leaves. He’s not sure what drove him to speak more with her than he ever has with anyone else at the camp, but as he walks away from the Winnebago, he feels a lightness in his chest that he hasn’t known in a long time.

 

**“Okay, I understand your anger at my implication. But I need you to be aware, if you’re seriously considering this, part of my job is to know why you’re interested in hormone replacement therapy. That’s how I decide if you’re really a viable candidate for the process or not.”**


	4. A Lack of Communication

**“Okay, I understand your anger at my implication. But I need you to be aware, if you’re seriously considering this, part of my job is to know why you’re interested in hormone replacement therapy. That’s how I decide if you’re really a viable candidate for the process or not.”**

 

            When Daryl stumbles back to the camp, weary and bone tired, angry that his search turned up nothing other than a doll and fears about his necessity in the group, he can feel his ability to stand draining. He can’t believe he didn’t find Sophia – he was so close. His brother’s taunting words ring in his ears. Even though his vision of Merle was just that – nothing more than a hallucination – Merle’s taunts were likely pulled, unbidden, from some dark, recessed memory.

            _Kick off them damn high heels, and climb, son!_ Daryl shakes his head, trying to ignore Merle’s words, playing on repeat in his mind. His feet feel heavier beneath him with every step, and the branches in front of him are becoming more and more difficult to move out of the way. _You’re a joke is what you are. You’re nothin’ more than a freak to them. They’re laughin’ at you behind your back._ Daryl’s mouth feels dry from exertion and any energy he got from eating the squirrel has long been used up. He can see Hershel’s house, a large white marker in the distance, wavering slightly in the heat.

            At the sight of his target, Daryl’s conviction falters. He still has another 10 feet or so to walk before he’s free from the thicket of trees and even _has a chance_ that anyone will spot him. Once he’s clear of the copse of trees, the likelihood that someone will see him before he collapses is still extremely slim. He wants to drop right there, in the dirt and sleep for days. _What’s the matter, Darlena, that all ya got in ya?_

            Merle’s mocking tone shoves him forward – gives him just enough energy to stagger out of the covering of trees and struggle forward a few feet. He glances up and can see a group of men rushing towards him, but it’s taking all of his energy just to drag his crossbow and move forward, so he lets his head hang as he makes his way toward them. Every step saps him of more and more of his already low stamina and all he wants to do is drop, right there, in the tall grass. Rick rushes up to him first, revolver held out, ready to shoot. Daryl looks at him down the barrel of the gun, panting, unable to make his voice work.

             “Is that Daryl?” Glenn asks, huffing from the effort of the run.

            Finally, able to make himself speak, Daryl growls his words. “That’s the third time you’ve pointed that thing at my head. You gonna pull the trigger, or what?” Everyone visibly relaxes as he speaks – their anxiety washes away in the face of his clear coherency. Shane sighs and looks like he’s about to say something, but suddenly there’s loud bang and zip of pain along the side of his face, and Daryl blacks out.

            When he comes to, he’s being picked up from where he fell on the ground. He lifts a hand to touch the sensitive spot at his temple, but Shane impatiently brushes Daryl’s hand out of the way and moves to pick him up with Rick’s help. “I was kidding,” Daryl says, letting them take on his dead weight. Rick’s arm is tucked under his shoulders and clasping tightly under his armpit, avoiding the wound on his abdomen. Shane is on his other side, gripping him in a similar manner, but with his hand further down. Daryl passes out just as Andrea is sprinting towards them, screaming something.

            His eyes are flicker open and shut as they lay him on the bed, he’s in and out of consciousness, but he grips Rick’s shirt and hopes that Rick takes the importance of his statement to heart. “Don’t let anyone in here,” he grunts, speaking as forcefully as he can. “No one but Hershel. No one.”

            Daryl knows that Hershel will want to tend to his head wound and likely the wound in his side. The room is spinning and he feels nauseous again – he knows he’s going to pass out soon. He won’t be able to stop Hershel from finding out what’s under his shirt, and that makes his skin crawl with fear, but he’s hoping the medical side of the man will keep his secret under wraps. No body else needs to find out, though.

            “Of course,” Rick reassures him, moving Daryl so that his legs are on the bed.

            The room is growing dark around the edges of Daryl’s vision, but he insists once more. “I’m fuckin’ serious. Nobody. Get him out!” He tries to gesture at Shane, who’s still hovering by the door, likely waiting for their pseudo-doctor to arrive. Daryl’s energy fails him, though, and his arm falls to his side as he faints once more.

            The next time he regains consciousness can’t be more than a few minutes after that. His shirt has been removed and Hershel is prodding at his head wound. Daryl tries to stop the bile rising in his throat

            “Are you going to stay awake this time?” Hershel asks.

            Daryl grunts and glances over to where Rick is sitting, ringing his hands, watching Daryl through his eyelids. Like he doesn’t want to be caught looking. Of course he doesn’t want to be caught. Now he knows something’s going on for sure – most men don’t run around wearing sports bras, and that’s exactly what Rick’s going to think Daryl has on. He’s either going to think Daryl has some sort of fucked up fetish, or he’ll know the truth.

            Hershel is clearly all business; he puts a damp rag in Daryl’s arm and rolls the man onto his good side. “Hold this to your head,” he instructs. “I’m going to see what I can do about your abdomen.”

            Rick waits a beat and then rises, coming to kneel by the bed. He unfurls a large map of the area and pushes it towards Daryl who adjusts himself on the bed to make room for the paper. “Do you know where you were? Where you found Sophia's doll?” Rick asks, gesturing to the section of the map Daryl had chosen to scout that day.

            “I found it washed up on a creek bed, right there,” Daryl points to a spot on the map before pressing the rag to his head once more. “She must have dropped it crossing there somewhere.”

            “Cuts the grid almost in half,” Rick says, bouncing on his heels.

            “You’re welcome.”

            “How’s he lookin’?” Rick asks Hershel, moving to roll the map back up.

            Hershel is dutifully tending the entrance would on Daryl’s back – he’s been silent for the duration of Rick’s conversation. “Had no idea we’d be going through the antibiotics so quickly,” he says, and there seems to be a tone of resentment in his voice. “Any idea what happened to my horse?” He finishes cleaning Daryl’s back and moves to wash his hands.

            Daryl snorts and turns to look at the old farmer, even though the action makes his side twinge. “Yeah, the one that almost killed me? If it’s smart, it left the country.” Daryl rolls to lay on his back and ignores the shot of pain the twists up his side. All he wants to do is crawl under the covers and hide. His discomfort from the wounds is bad, but it isn’t too bad. All he can really think about right now is the fact that two new people, both of whom he barely knows, know at least a little bit more about him than he’d like. Even if they don’t know his secret yet, they’ll be wondering soon enough. He wants Rick to take his maps and Hershel to take his attitude and both of them to get out of the room so he can pass out and pretend this never happened.

            “We call that one Nelly,” Hershel says, instead of leaving. “As in Nervous Nelly. I could have told you she’d throw you, if you’d bothered to ask.” The veterinarian is drying his hands, and Daryl hopes this is a sign they’ll both be leaving immediately. But, noticing Daryl is now ignoring him, Hershel walks up to Rick. “It’s a wonder you people have survived this long.” Rick doesn’t say anything, but Daryl’s vision is fading. Just as he’s falling asleep once more, they finally leave him alone in the room. 

* * *

 

            The next time he opens his eyes, he’s still alone in the room. There’s a hastily wrapped bandage around his head and his abdomen now has two large gauze pads pressed up against the entry and exit wounds on his side. It seems Hershel was waiting for Daryl to pass out before he performed the more painful task of binding the man’s wounds. Daryl takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the ache in his ribs. He knows he should take off his binder – it’s been days since he’s removed his most constrictive piece of clothing and soon his breathing will become difficult…he’s surprised it hasn’t happened already.

            Worse than his sore ribs or his aching abdomen is his head. The wound on his temple has blossomed into a full blown headache. His entire head is now throbbing and he’s parched – it feels like the worst hangover he’s ever had. Next to him on the table is glass of water, just within reach. He sticks his hand out for it, but he’s still weak, and his arm flops, smacking the glass to the floor.

            The sound must alert the others he’s up, because seconds after, there’s a knock on the door. Daryl barely has time to pull his sheets up to his chin before the door swings open. Rick walks in before shutting it behind himself and drops into the chair beside the bed. “How’re you feelin’?” he asks. He looks confused and Daryl isn’t sure if Rick is really asking what he’s asking.

            “Fine,” Daryl says gruffly.

            Rick glances pointedly at the broken glass on the floor. “Thirsty?”

            “Feel like I got a pretty shitty hangover.” Daryl’s not going to ask Rick to get him a glass of water. He doesn’t need his help. Doesn't _want_ it.

            “I’ll get you something to drink.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “Don’t worry about it. Be back in a minute.”

            “I don’t need anything!” Daryl shouts, but Rick’s already halfway to the kitchen.

            The ex-sheriff returns shortly with a new glass of water and holds it out so that Daryl can grab it. The full glass feels heavy in his hands, so Daryl lays on his back and rests it on his chest. Rick resumes sitting in the chair and waits for Daryl to finish drinking before saying anything. Trying to delay what he knows it an inevitable conversation, Daryl takes a long draught of water, almost holding his breath.

            Even once he empties the glass, there’s still a few moments of silence between the two of them. Rick watches Daryl with leery eyes, like he’s trying to decide whether he should attempt to coax a homeless dog out of an alley, or just call animal services. Eventually, Daryl grows weary of waiting. He holds his drained glass out over the nightstand and lets it drop onto the table with a thud. “Somethin’ you wanted to ask me?”

            Rick chews his lip for a minute. He’s a good man, Daryl thinks, he has honour and wants to do right by everybody. But sometimes, he spends so damn long thinking about how to do the ethical thing, the chance just passes him by. Rick opens his mouth, as though he’s about to speak, but closes it again.

           “You know what you saw?” Daryl asks. He’s not to keen on broaching the topic, but he knows that’s what Rick’s hemming and hawing over internally, and he doesn’t want to wait anxiously to see when the man will bring it up. “You wanna ask about it?”

           After a few minutes more of looking apprehensive, Rick finally shakes his head and rises from the chair – looking at Daryl with something that appears to be a cross between fear and pity. “No, I don’t want to. None of my business anyways.”

           He picks up the empty glass off the side table and toes at the wet shards on the floor. “Someone’ll be in with something for you to eat, soon,” he advises. Daryl swallows thickly, nods, and watches the man leave. 

* * *

 

           It’s been about half an hour since Daryl’s awkward non-conversation with Rick. Still, nobody’s come to bring him food and ache in his chest is almost worse than his headache. He glances as the door and decides to take the risk – he’ll see the door knob jiggle if someone starts to come in. Daryl levers himself up to a sitting position on the bed and awkwardly reaches around to undo the clasps behind his back. It’s a task and a half to get the article of clothing off in his current state, so when he finally manages, he breathes a heady sigh of relief  and tucks the fabric behind his pillow.

           When he went through puberty, Daryl was somewhat relieved to learn his breasts would be small. They were barely an A-cup, closer to breast buds than anything. Daryl remembers being a 13 year old girl and being half elated/half terrified about the results of his transition to adolescence. As young as he can recall, Daryl had known he was supposed to be a male, and so his body’s clear indication of this – boxy hips, broad shoulders and miniscule breasts – felt like it was nature’s way of telling him he was absolutely right. However, teenage girls can be remarkably cruel and the taunting in the locker room at school is something Daryl can still hear.He recalls his middle school days like a pathetic remake of Carrie, minus the telekinesis.

           His breasts are still the same, small in size, which means he could probably pass without a binder. He’s sure if he wore a couple of shirts and his vest on top, no one would be the wiser. Daryl could feasibly even get away without the vest. But his constant fear of being discovered, in any fashion, has kept him on the side of caution for years. He runs his hands over his rib cage, massaging his sore sides and takes a deep breath.

           When the doorknob rattles, Daryl tries to ignore the slight ripple of panic that tears through him and quickly lifts the sheet to his chin – effectively covering his front, and his back, in one go. Carol walks in through the open door, the promised tray of food in her hands. At the sight of her, Daryl adjusts the sheet once more, ensuring it covers not only his chest, but the scars crisscrossing his back as well. He knew if Rick and Hershel saw the scars, they wouldn't say a word. But he can just imagine the pity that would form in Carol's eyes, the curve of her eyebrows, the tightening of her lips. His emotions are already haywire from being shot and stabbed in one day; he can't handle that from her right now, and won't risk it.

           “How’re you feeling?” she asks, setting down the food. There’s concern in her eyes that is unfamiliar to Daryl, something else he doesn't think he can deal with at the moment, so he rolls away from her to face the wall.

           “’Bout as good as I look,” he says.

           Carol opens her mouth as though she is about to say something, but then closes it, changing her mind. “Brought you some dinner,” she decides. “You must be starving.”

           Daryl rolls halfway onto his back to look up at her and glances at the tray of food. He isn’t sure how to react when the woman leans over, getting close to him. It’s instinctive when his body tenses, closing in on itself. But the only physical contact she dares make is a gentle peck on the side of his face before she rises back up, ignoring his look of consternation. The silence between them makes him feel shaky and awkward – he doesn’t know what to say. Daryl can’t remember the last time someone treated him with such gentleness and his words tumble out before he can think of a coherent reply to the physical manifestation of her gratitude. “Watch out. I got stitches.” Inside of him, something is crumbling.

           Carol looks at him sideways, making a choice. “You need to know something,” it seems she is going to share her previously withheld thoughts. Daryl twists to look at her, movements stiff. “You did more for my little girl today than her own daddy ever did in his whole life.”

           Daryl crushes his pillow between his arms and turns to look back at the wall, uncertain of how to respond to her affectionate gaze. “I didn’t do anything Rick or Shane wouldn’t’a done.”

           “I know,” she says, sounding as though that's exactly what she wanted to hear. “You’re every bit as good as them. Every bit.” Daryl can’t bring himself to look back at her as she leaves the room, pulling the door shut once more.

**“I’ve told you why I’m interested in it! I’m not a girl!”**

**“Why do you feel that way, though?”**

**“You think you’re a woman?”**

**“Yes.”**

**“Why do you feel that way?”**

           Daryl doesn’t expect the announcement when it comes. They’re all sitting around the campfire, eating scrambled eggs, when Glenn gets their attention. “Uh…guys? Barn’s full of walkers.”

           It's only been a day since he's ended his forced (by Carol and Hershel, at least) convalescence, so Daryl’s head is still throbbing and his side is still aching. Still, Glenn’s announcement pushes him out of his seat. He follows the group to the barn and watches as Shane peers inside of the building. He listens and remains silent until Shane starts pushing Fort Benning again. That asshole doesn’t even care about finding Sophia – it seems like every time Daryl turns around, Shane’s arguing to leave the farm.

            “We can’t go!” Rick says, gesturing wildly at Shane to calm him down or shut him up. Daryl isn’t sure which, and frankly, he doesn’t care.

            “Okay, why Rick? Why?”

            Carol speaks up. “Because my daughter’s still out there.”

            “Okay,” Shane rubs his face and lets out a frustrated sort of breathy chuckle. Daryl is fighting the urge to take a swing at the guy. “I think it’s time that we all start to just…consider the other possibility.” Carol looks away from Shane, disgusted and Rick begins to argue with his friend again.

            “We are not leaving Sophia behind.”

            Daryl’s fed up with Shane – this guy doesn’t care about anybody or anything other than himself. “I’m close to findin’ this girl! I just found her damn doll two days ago.”

            “You found her _doll_ Daryl, that’s what you did.” Shane takes a step forward. “You found a _doll_.”

            Daryl steps forward and gestures wildly with his arm. If it was only Shane and him present, he would extend that swing and turn it into a right hook. This guy just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t even _want_ to understand. “Man, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”

            Shane starts rambling on and his words are hard to discern through Rick’s placation, but finally he looks straight at Daryl. “Let me tell you somethin’ else man, if she was out there alive and saw you comin’, all messed out with your buck knife, ears around your neck she would’a run in the other direction!”

            Daryl doesn’t care that there are other people around them. He jolts forward and grabs for Shane, “Shut up!” he hollers. The only thing that stops him from grabbing onto the other man is Rick’s intervention. Suddenly everyone’s in the middle and Shane’s voice is the loudest of all. Daryl manages to calm himself, but Shane is still hollering and it takes Glenn, Andrea, Lori and Rick to keep him back. There’s even more yelling and arguing before the man begins to stalk away, unwilling to be reasoned with. All of the noise seems to have gotten the attention of the walkers inside and there’s a loud thump and clanging noises as they push against the double doors to the bar.

* * *

 

            Now, more than ever, in the face of Shane’s desperation to leave, Daryl knows how important it is to get out there and save that girl. He can rest up later – Sophia could be starving or hurt out there in the woods, and she’s just a little girl.

            He asks Hershel if he can borrow a horse – he wouldn’t usually, but he’s not going to get everyone kicked off of the farm just because he doesn’t care for someone’s permission – and though the man advises against it, warning Daryl he will likely worsen his injuries, he gives Daryl his blessing to use the calmest steed in the stable. The saddle feels heavier than he remembers, and he can feel the stitches in his side pulling even as he lifts it to set it on the saddle stand. It’s a mark of what a rush he’s in that he doesn’t even hear Carol coming up behind him.

            “You can’t,” she says. Like she’s carrying on a conversation he'd walked away from.

            “I’m fine." He stands up quickly from catching his breath and grabs the horse’s halter.

            “Hershel said you need to heal.”

            “Yeah, I don’t care.”

            “Well I do. Rick’s going out later to follow the trail.” Her voice is quiet and calm, but the implication the Rick should be the one to do all the work irritates Daryl.

            “Yeah,” he says, while haltering the mare. “Well I ain’t gonna sit around and do nothin’.”

            Carol stands behind him, arms crossed like she’s scolding a child. “No, you’re gonna go out there and get yourself hurt even worse.” Daryl ignores her – he doesn’t need anyone’s protection – and continues to halter the horse. “We don’t know if we’re gonna find her, Daryl.” He turns to look at her and there’s a frankness in her eyes that makes him feel like kicking a wall. “We don’t.” He glares at her and she shifts her weight, apparently nervous under his gaze. She whispers something that he can’t understand and looks everywhere but at him when he takes a step towards her.

            “What?”

            “Can’t lose you, too,” she finally whispers, her mouth curling in on itself.

            Daryl frowns at her and drops the harness. He steps away before looking back. A sudden anger fills him. Carol was supposed to be better. She had tried so hard, fought tooth and nail to find Sophia. Carol was more than his mother had ever been, but now – just like his mother had done in the past – Carol was letting a man’s, Shane’s, words go to her head. Daryl has been looking for Sophia for _days,_ insisting the little girl is alive, but one _implication_ from Shane that she might be dead, and Carol wants to give up? Wants Daryl to give up?

            The anger flares inside of him and boils over. It erupts violently as he turns and shoves the saddle aggressively to the ground. He's never struck a woman, and never would, but when he hears Carol's gasp behind him, it grants him a small amount of happiness. His feelings are short lived, though, when the combination of the weight of the saddle and his quick turn pull something in Daryl’s side. His movement stutters and he crouches to grip at his wound for a moment. When he sees Carol coming towards him out of the corner of his eye, he stands and hurries away from her. “Just leave me be,” he barks. “Stupid bitch.”

* * *

 

            Later on in the day, Daryl starts to feel a weighing guilt in his stomach. Carol isn’t like his mother, she’s nothing like his mother was. He goes to the main campsite under the ruse of getting a bandage for his head and after Carol gives him one, he tells her he wants to show her something. He drags her along to a small pond on the edge of the property, and she follows silently behind him, unquestioning.

            “See it?” he asks, as they come around the corner. A Cherokee rose bush is just visible through the thicket of grass.

            “What?” she murmurs.

            Daryl points to the creamy, white flower. “I’ll find her.” When Carol doesn’t say anything, he bites his lip and watches her for a moment. “Hey,” he says, leaning towards her, “Sorry about what happened this morning.”

            Carol’s lips are tight, but she shakes her head. “You wanted to look for her.” She stares at the flowers for a moment, before turning, confused, to stare at Daryl. “Why? This whole time I just…I wanted to ask you.”

            “’Cause I still think she’s out there. Truth is, what else I got to do?”

            Carol furrows her brow before turning back to the flowers. She steps forward and presses the soft petal between her thumb and forefinger. “We’ll find her,” she says. “We will. I see it.”

* * *

 

            Everything in this world is fucked up. It doesn’t matter where they go or who they find or how safe they feel. Everything is fucked.

            Daryl had gone, guns ready, with Shane to the barn, but he didn’t expect it go down like this. Shane loses it – he’s yelling about surviving and living and fighting when he goes to the barn doors and smashes them open. Rick is desperately screaming at Shane to stop, but the lock comes off the door and Shane backs away.

            There’s no choice. The walkers are funneling out through the door and he’s got to shoot them down, he’s got to protect the group. He aims his shotgun and shoots out a few rounds – time seems to slow and it feels like it takes more than 20 seconds for the pile of dead to lie down in front of the open doors. Once the smoke clears and the groaning has stopped, Daryl looks around at the group, trying to get a read on everyone else.

            After a moment, there’s a quiet growling from the back of the barn. Tiny legs step out into the sunlight and Daryl’s heart stops when he sees a familiar face, blackened by decay. The Sophia walker growls at them, pulling her lips back. Behind Daryl, Carol is sobbing, muttering her daughter’s name. Suddenly she yells and bolts towards the dead girl. “Sophia?” Daryl knows it can’t be true, but it is. That little girl is right in front of him. “Sophia!” Carol yells and runs past Daryl. He drops his shotgun and reaches out to grab her, arms wrapping around her torso, holding her back.

            Daryl can’t let her go, but she’s still reaching for her daughter and her weight carries both of them down to the ground. He voice cracks, “Oh no…Sophia.” That thing is not Sophia anymore.

            Daryl stays on the ground with her, arms encircling her shoulders. She’s not going anywhere, but without the support she’ll fall forward. “Sophia…” she sobs and presses her weight against his arms. He doesn’t know how to comfort her, what words to use, as Rick steps forward, revolver pointing at the child. He runs his hand up and down her arm until the shot rings out and Sophia drops.

            Carol falls forward, face to the ground and wails in earnest, uncaring of Daryl’s presence behind her. He allows her a few moments to grieve and then her lifts her from the ground. “Don’t look,” he orders. “Don’t look.” She pushes him off and stumbles away from the silent group.

 

**“Because I was born a female and I’m comfortable with my biological gender, Darlene. I understand that you aren’t, but what we need to determine is why.”**


	5. In the Pines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! Sorry this took me longer than usual to get up. I've been working like a mad woman and sleeping as soon as I get home! Hopefully the wait won't be as long, next time. Hope you like it. :)

**“Because I was born a female and I’m comfortable with my biological gender, Darlene. I understand that you aren’t, but what we need to determine is why.”**

            Daryl doesn’t follow Carol immediately. He waits, gives her some time to get her shit together. For a while, he squats outside the RV and can hear her crying, trying to mask her sobbing inside. He waits for her to come out, to vacate the privacy of her grief. But when, eventually, the sobs quiet and he can no longer hear her tears, Carol still doesn’t come out. He knocks first and waits for the quiet “Come in,” that she murmurs before letting himself into the space.

            He doesn’t have any words for her; he doesn’t know what to say. He sits on the counter and she stares at him from where she’s propped herself up in the driver’s seat. They watch each other in silence for a few moments until Lori comes in, creaking the stairs on her way up.

            “They’re ready,” she says. “Come on.”

            Carol shakes her head and looks at her hands, twisted in her lap. “Why?”

            Lori glances at Daryl, who still isn’t sure what to say. “’Cause that’s your little girl,” he tries, hoping he’s gotten it right.

            “That’s not my little girl,” Carol says, looking at him and shaking her head. Daryl cringes internally, but maintains his relaxed posture on the counter. He’s gotten it wrong. Completely and utterly wrong. There’s a lost look in Carol’s eyes when she tells him, “That’s some other…thing.” Carol takes a breath and Daryl wonders if he should say something, remind her that even if Sophia was bitten, it was still Carol’s daughter in there. But then the woman carries on. “My Sophia was alone in the woods. All this time, I thought…She didn’t cry herself to sleep. She didn’t go hungry. She didn’t try to find her way back. Sophia died a long time ago.”

            Daryl wants to turn and look at Lori – she always seems to know just what to say when the shit hits the fan. He wants someone to tell him what the hell to do, but instead he just hunches his shoulders forward and picks dirt out from his nails, watching Carol surreptitiously from beneath his eyelashes. Lori backs out of the trailer without another word and her absence seems to allow something else to invade the space.

            The anger that Daryl had felt the other day, his rage about Carol’s determination to give up so easily comes flooding back. Suddenly he feels like a tense spring, coiled and ready to pop. He wants to _scream_ at Carol. “That’s your little girl!” he wants to say, “Remember, the one we’ve been lookin’ for? You love her!” But he doesn’t. Instead he huffs, trying to expel something, and jumps off of the counter, following Lori away from the RV. If he stays around Carol, he knows he’ll say something he’ll regret.

* * *

 

            After the funeral, Daryl heads back to his private camp. He’s so far from the others that Hershel’s farm house is just a white, wavering spot in the distance. He doesn’t need anyone bothering him, and why would they? He hasn’t done anything for this group, he couldn’t even find a fucking _little girl_. All that time he’d been thinking about going, he was right. It was the right thing to do. Everything’s fucked here anyways. The group, if anybody would still call it that, is broken and splintered. Shane’s explosion has sent everyone reeling in different directions and Daryl wants no part of their shredded existence. He’ll prep his gear and then when it gets dark, he’ll slip off into the night.

            Except that, uninvited, he notices Lori jogging up to meet him. First, she’s a small, unidentifiable speck against the backdrop of trees behind her, but eventually she’s close enough that he can make her out. He feels his spine stiffening as she approaches, invading his personal space.

            “Moving to the suburbs?” she asks.

            He wants to lash out. Yell at her like he should have yelled at Carol for being such a bitch about Sophia. Like he should have yelled at himself for being such a bitch, too. Instead, he drags his knife more forcefully across the stick he’s fashioning into a bolt and pointedly ignores at her.          

            Lori doesn’t wait for a response. “Listen, Beth’s in some kind of catatonic shock. We need Hershel.”

            Daryl still doesn’t bother to look at her. “Mhm. So what?”

            She squats down next to him, like she’s preparing to talk down to him. “So I need you to pop into town real quick and bring him and Rick back.” She’s treating him like some kind of child. The muscles between his neck and shoulders tighten. “Daryl.” She’s not asking him. She’s telling him. It’s like everyone thinks he’s their dog, or something. Daryl, do this, Daryl, do that. Not a single please or thank you. No one really cares if he’s there or not. They’re just using him until he’s worn out.

            He glances at her for a short second before looking back down at his knife. “Bitch went window shoppin,” he finally says. “You want him, fetch him yourself.” That’s it. He’s worn out. “Got better things to do.” He expects her to walk away, then, but she doesn’t. She stays, squatting, on the ground next to him and eyes him quizzically.

            “What’s the matter with you? Why would you be so selfish?”

            How can she call _him_ selfish? He swallows the urge to kick or hit something and instead bolts up from where he’s been sitting. “Selfish? Listen to me, Olive Oil! I was out there lookin’ for the little girl every single day! I took a bullet and an arrow in the process so don’t you tell me about gettin’ my hands dirty. You want those two idiots? Have a nice ride. I’m done looking for people.”

            Lori stares at him, silent for once. Daryl sits back down and resumes whittling his stick, ignores her until she walks away.

* * *

 

            It’s late at night, and Daryl honestly can’t say why he hasn’t left yet. His plan was to pack up all his shit and leave, once it got dark. But his tent’s still pitched, with all of his belongings inside and he’s lit a fire - which he’s watching - when Carol comes nosing around. She peeks inside his tent first and then heads over to the tree where he’s hung his game. She’s staring at the string of ears when he comes up behind her.

            “What’re you doing?” She spins around, as though startled, but to her credit, she barely flinches at his presence.

            “Keepin’ an eye on you.”

            “Ain’ you a peach,” he mutters.

            “I’m not gonna let you pull away. You’ve earned your place.”

            He steps forward, invades her space. “You spent half your time minding your daughter’s business instead of sticking your nose in everybody else’s, she still be alive!”

            Carol makes a face, widens her mouth so that her lips are pulled tight. “Go ahead,” she says.

            “Go ahead and what?” Go ahead and yell? Go ahead and beat her? Carol’s insinuation that he would _ever_ lay a hand on her makes him even angrier. He can feel his temper steadily rising – just being in her presence makes him feel more aggressive than he has in a long while. She stares at him and he can’t help lashing out at her passive expression. “Man, just go! I don’t want you here!” She doesn’t say anything and it’s all Daryl can do not to reach out and hit her. She’s so calm and he can barely contain himself. He steps forward, juts his chin out so that their faces are only inches from one another.

            “You’re a real piece of work, lady,” he spits. “What, are you gonna make this about my daddy, or some crap like that?” Is that what “go ahead” meant? Does she mean that she thinks he’s going to bemoan his childhood in her presence? Does she think she’s here for him? He scoffs at her. “Man, you don’t know jack!” He realizes, as he scoffs the pathetic insult, that he’s continually wavering back and forth – stepping away from her and towards, and repeating the pattern. He can’t help it as he draws himself closer, mere inches from her body. “You’re afraid,” he says, waving his hand near her face. “You’re afraid ‘cause you’re all alone.” _And you know all too well what that feels like, don’t you, baby brother?_ “You got no husband, no daughter, you don’t know what to do with yourself.” _And who else doesn’t know what to do with themselves, baby brother?_ “You ain’t my problem!” Daryl hollers in Carol’s face, attempting to drive out Merle’s ridiculing voice. The tone and the words seem familiar, but he can’t take Merle’s taunting right now.

            “Sophia wasn’t mine!” Daryl says the words like they’re the worst he’s ever spoken, his body moving violently with the assertion. All this time, Carol watches him quietly, barely reacting every time his body jerks. “All you had to do was keep an eye on her!” His voice is raw and his anger flares. He bolts forward, so violently and so close that Carol turns her head away from him with an aborted whimper. Old habits die hard for both of them.

            Daryl suddenly feels his heart sink, it plummets through his stomach and he feels ill at its absence. Carol’s expression is familiar to him, even if he’s never seen one like it. He remembers making a face like that, letting out a little whimper when his father used to raise his hand, ready to strike with whatever implement was closest. Daryl’s mouth clenches shut, there are no more words. He promised himself, sitting on his bed at age 15 with bleeding welts on his back, that he would never strike that sort of fear in _anyone._ He backs away from Carol and she opens her mouth, taking in a shallow breath.

 

**“I told you to call me Daryl. That’s what everyone else calls me.”**

**“I can tell that it makes you uncomfortable when we broach this topic. Every time I ask you _why_ you try to project onto me. I want to get your hormone therapy started, but I need you to work with me.”**

            The next day, when Rick, Glenn and Hershel return Daryl feels a wave of relief. Just underneath of it though, there’s an undulating sense of disappointment. He had been prepared to head off with Shane and Andrea to pick them up, to prove his use once more to group. He can be more than a hunter for them, and now that he’s decided to stay, he’s anxious to prove his worth.

            After Randall, the spare rider in the back of the truck, has had his wounds cared for (by Hershel) and has been locked safely in a shed (by Daryl), Daryl meets the group in the house. They are arguing when he arrives, but Carol focuses on him as he walks through the door and he offers her a small nod and cautious smile. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to forgive himself for his behaviour during their argument the night before. He wonders if she’ll ever be able to forgive him.

            “Just gonna let him go?” Shane is asking, as Daryl enters the dining / makeshift meeting room. “He knows where we are.” Shane is leaning against a window, his body tense with nerves.

            “He was blindfolded the whole way here, he’s not a threat.” Rick seems like he doesn’t want to argue about this. But Shane won’t have any of it.

            “Not a threat?” Shane asks, his voice rising. He’s mocking his friend. “You killed three of their men, you took one of them hostage, but they just ain’t gonna come lookin’ for him?” Daryl has to agree with Shane. It doesn’t make sense that the other people wouldn’t come looking for some sort of retribution, even if they don’t care about their lost group member.

            “They left him for dead,” Rick insists. “No one is looking.”

            “We should still post a guard,” T-Dog says.

            “He’s out cold, right now,” Hershel says.

            That much, Daryl knows. He just finished dragging the kid’s body around as per Hershel’s orders. “Will be for hours.”

            Shane and Hershel have an argument about Shane’s disregard for the farm and Hershel and suddenly everyone starts to clear out of the room. It’s like no one can make a fucking decision if Shane isn’t a part of it, too. Daryl pushes from the wall he’s been leaning on, frustrated. There’s no way it should be so hard to figure out what to do in a situation like this. Carol offers him a small smile, but he turns from her and exits the house.

 

              **“I am workin’ with you, damn it! Look, I’ve only got so much money and don’t wanna waste it all convincing you I need this. So just tell me what I have to say to make you believe me!”**

**“There’s no secret formula, Daryl. You come from a very destructive background.”**

**“You think I’m crazy? Is that what you’re sayin’?”**


	6. Weakness

  **“I am workin’ with you, damn it! Look, I’ve only got so much money and don’t wanna waste it all convincing you I need this. So just tell me what I have to say to make you believe me!”**

**“There’s no secret formula, Daryl. You come from a very destructive background.”**

**“You think I’m crazy? Is that what you’re sayin’?”**

 

            The barn. The walkers. Sophia. Randall. Dale. This farm is fucked. Daryl doesn’t want to stay here anymore, he feels restless and upset inside of the fence and there’s too much shit stuck inside of with him. So when the horde comes through and forces them out, Daryl is glad to get out.

            He agrees to help the rest of the crew – minus Shane, Rick and Carl (who are missing) clear as much of the herd as possible from the farm before escaping themselves. Either they’re going to die, or they're going to kill enough of those walkers to get out. Regardless, he won’t be stuck on this godforsaken farm anymore.

            Everyone else loads into cars – a driver and shooter – mowing and shooting down walkers while they speed along the length of the farms inner fence. Daryl, on his motorcycle, drives along the fence and takes out the closest walkers before noticing the blazing barn. He tells Jimmy to drive the Winnebago up to the structure so that he can save Rick and Shane. Daryl continues to drive on without waiting to see what happens, hoping the loud revving of the motorcycle’s engine will draw enough of the walkers away that everyone will be able to load into the camper.

            Hershel is a lone gunman in front of the house, firing off a single barrel shotgun at the oncoming walkers. Daryl spots the flare of the gun as he circles around the farm, taking out as many of the perimeter zombies as he can. He tries to follow the sound of gunshots, wants to reunite with at least a portion of the group. But the hollow blasts are coming from everywhere, almost inaudible over the fire and groaning. Eventually he stops to catch his bearings at the main gate, and is going to leave when he hears a desperate scream over the din. He hastens down the drive and finds Carol, bellowing and waving her arms.

            “Come on,” he says, whipping the bike around so she can climb on. “I ain’t got all day.”

            She clambers on, grips his stomach tightly. “Let’s go.”

            They’ve been driving for a while when his brain finally clears enough for him to think. Daylight is starting to paint the sky a watery pink and as they head towards the highway, Daryl realises he’s glad to be shot of the farm, glad to be out of the mess. But he’s unsure if anyone’s alive, other than Carol, who sits awkwardly on the back of his bike, hands behind her for support. It’s like she’s afraid to touch him now that they’re safe. They barrel through bush and continue onto the road, bypassing a small cluster of walkers, shuffling along in the light of dawn.

            He’s not even sorry that he had to leave the tent and all of Merle’s shit behind. He had time to grab his own bag of gear, but didn’t dare risk his neck just to keep the few reminders of his brother – sentiment means nothing to him anymore, it can’t.

            Eventually the morning light gives way to a car, wavering along the asphalt and Daryl recognizes the Hyundai. He follows the driver, one of his own – he knows – to the highway where they first lost Sophia. Where this all started. There’s a cluster of people there, an even smaller group than they had to begin with and while smiles and laughter are shared at the reunion, there’s too many of them missing.

            Shane, Andrea, Patricia, Jimmy…the death count makes Daryl’s head swim. “I’m goin’ back,” he tells everyone as they tally up their lost loved ones. He can’t be sure where the sudden inclination to return to that place came from, but Daryl Dixon has never been a man to fight his instincts. Everything’s been going to shit, lately, maybe if he can go back and save someone…if just one thing can go right…

            Rick stops him and they decide to take the road east, together…what’s left of the group.

* * *

 

            Later that night, as the sun is starting to lower on the horizon, the procession of vehicles is called to halt by Rick’s honked horn. The red truck that Rick’s family and T-Dog have been travelling in is completely out of gas. The whole group seems to be at odds about what they should do. Maggie and Glenn want to find gas and move on, Carl’s terrified of stopping and Rick wants to keep everyone together.

            Daryl isn’t sure what the best decision is, but he finds, back in this group setting, with Rick seeming so confident and giving another one of his little speeches, it’s easy to fall back into the comfortable role of wingman. Daryl is happy to hunt for the group tonight and take off tomorrow, or watch Maggie’s back while she finds and siphons some gas. He’ll do whatever he needs to do to take care of this group, because even though the shit’s really hit the fan, it finally seems like they’re a unit again.

            After Rick decides they’re going to stay in the ruins of a building off the side of the road, Carol comes up behind Daryl – who has remained quiet on whether they should stay or go. “Does this feel right to you?” she asks him.

            He isn’t sure what to say. Does staying out in the open, overnight, feel right to him? Not really. Does being part of a _real_ group again feel right to him? Absolutely. Does following Rick’s lead feel right to him? Without a doubt. Daryl has never been anybody’s bitch, but Rick is a good man – an honest man with a smart head on his shoulders.

            Daryl still hasn’t forgotten the day that Rick could have destroyed everything, could have forced Daryl to tell him his most loathsome secret, could have kicked Daryl out or made assumptions about his character. But Rick didn’t do any of those things, because he’s more than just a decent man. Rick is good man. And yeah, what he’s saying about hunkering down and building a life together does sound a little crazy, and Daryl knows he won’t sleep a wink tonight – but he’ll do what Rick says, because following Rick…that feels right.

            Rather than answer Carol’s question, since he’s unsure how to answer, Daryl decides to tell the group that he found Randall, unbitten, but turned. It’s a fact that’s been quietly rotating itself in the back of his mind all this time. He knows Shane killed the man – the tracks on the ground and the twist of Randall’s broken neck support that fact. But he doesn’t know how the kid turned.

            Rick looks lost when Lori asks what happened. He doesn’t answer about what happened to Shane, but his voice cracks when he speaks, none the less. “We’re all infected,” he admits.

            Everyone stares blankly at Rick, but Daryl needs more clarification. “What?” he asks – trying to maintain a level temper. Rick’s not the type to just go around spouting bullshit, but Daryl can’t believe the man knows something like this to be a fact.

            Everyone starts jumping on Rick, angry that he never shared the information with them. Daryl doesn’t say anything, turns away from his friend and turns back, still silent. He doesn’t know what to say. Ricks points at Daryl, looking for support, “You saw how crazy that mother-“ he’s cut off before he can finish, but Daryl understands.

            Daryl doesn’t know what he would have done if Dr. Jenner had entrusted him with that sort of information. Would he have risked discord in the group by telling everyone something that could feasibly be a lie? Or would he have felt the need to protect them all from a heinous truth? Fact is, as pissed as Daryl is that Rick kept something like this from him (and he’s pretty pissed off) he understands why Rick’s done what he’s done. So he’s stays silent and listens to everyone else dig into the guy.

            When Rick explains he was doing what was best for the group, that’s enough for Daryl. He doesn’t need anymore explanation. Everyone else might, Lori follows her husband when he wanders off from the group and everybody else just stands around looking dumb founded. But Daryl’s content with the answer and so he loads up his bow and decides to find something for the group to eat before it gets too dark.

            The walkers must’ve torn through this area some already, because there’s no game to be found in the surrounding woods and Daryl isn’t fool enough to walk farther than ear shot from the group. They’re all dangerously low on ammo after the shoot out at the farm and they’ll need him and his crossbow if something happens. Once the sun sets completely, Daryl grunts in defeat. He hasn’t bagged anything, not even a damn squirrel, but there’s no way he can hunt in the dark.

            He heads back to where the group is waiting, hunkered down inside the old, rock walls. There’s a fire burning in the middle of them all and they’re huddled around it for warmth. Georgian winters never get too cold, but the comfort of the farm has made them all soft. Daryl walks over and squats between where Carol is sitting and where Lori is comforting Carl. He picks up a twig and stabs at the fire a little, content not to say anything at all.

            Carol glances around at the group before whispering to Daryl. “We’re not safe with him. Keepin’ something like that from us?” Daryl doesn’t want to look at her. Carol’s always been kind to him, and nurtured a friendship even when he was cruel to her, but Rick has been there for him, too. He doesn’t want to take sides, so he stays silent. After a moment, he glances up at her, to see if she’s gonna say anything else. Carol peers over her shoulder and mutters, “Why do you need him? He’s just gonna pull you down.”

            She makes Rick sound like bad news. The man may be a little off his game right now, but Daryl knows the kind of people who would pull him down. Merle is one of them. Merle’s always been there for Daryl, but those kind of guys…guys like Merle and guys like Shane who are bad on the inside, those are the kind who will pull you down. Not guys like Rick. Rick’s a good man who made some bad choices. And yeah, he’s going off a little half cocked, but he’s alright. “No,” he says, trying to avoid confrontation. “Rick’s done alright by me.”

            “You’re his henchmen,” Carol says, glaring at Rick. “And I’m a burden. You deserve better.”

            Daryl likes Carol – he really does. She represents a lot of things he respects in a woman, a lot of things he hasn’t seen much in his life, but she’s making this about her, he realizes. She feels like Rick doesn’t respect her and she wants someone to side with her. He can’t tell if she really thinks Rick is doing wrong by the two of them, or if she’s just trying to convince herself of it. He watches her face for a moment in the flickering firelight and tries to figure out where she’s coming from.

            “What do you want?” he asks, eyes squinting, sincerely curious.

            “A man of honour.”

            “Rick has honour.” Daryl voice feels rough in his own throat. How can he explain this truth - which he knows without a doubt - to Carol? There’s no way he can say that Rick has respected boundaries that no one else ever has (other than Hershel, who Daryl still doesn’t really count since the man’s a doctor), there’s no way he can say that he owes Rick a debt he will never be able to repay. Daryl hopes that his words will be good enough for Carol, because he has nothing else for her to go on.

            He tosses the twig into the fire, hoping the conversation is over. Just a moment later, there’s the sound of something shuffling in the woods. Daryl readies his bow, hoping it’s something they can eat and not something looking to eat them.

            Suddenly an argument erupts. Maggie wants to leave, Carol wants someone to do something and the slowly encroaching danger is making everyone restless. Rick’s voice starts rising and he starts gesturing with his gun, insisting that they all stay together. An unexpected admission blurts out of his mouth. “I killed my best friend for you people, for Christ’s sake.”

            Daryl blinks. He had a feeling that something like that happened. Shane, Daryl knows, was no good. The man killed Otis in cold blood and something’s been off about him for a while, even before they found out about the barn. Daryl used to catch the man looking at Rick like the ex-Sheriff had done him some sort of grievous wrong. And earlier, when Lori asked what happened to Shane, Daryl didn’t miss the far away look in Rick’s eyes. He isn’t surprised when Rick says he killed the man, but there are a few people around who seem to be.

            Daryl doesn’t need to listen to Rick’s defence, he knows the man did the right thing, but he watches everyone else as they take in their leader’s words. Glenn and Maggie look stunned, Beth even takes a step back towards her father. Hershel looks like he understands though, and it’s then - as Rick is defending his actions, talking about how Shane pushed him and compromised the group, while Hershel simply watches - that Daryl knows this old man, this old farmer will be indispensable to the group. Hershel had some fucked up ideas in his head about the walkers, but he knows the truth now and he did whatever it took to protect his farm. He’s stared some fucked up shit in the eyes and he’s still standing there, watching Rick, respecting his decisions to keep the group safe.

            “Maybe you people are better off without me,” Rick eventually says, when the group stays quiet in the face of his admission. “Go ahead. I say there’s a place for us, but maybe…maybe it’s just another pipe dream. Maybe…Maybe I’m foolin’ myself again.” Rick stares Daryl right in the eyes as he says it, and Daryl stares right back. Daryl’s gonna let his friend lose it, go on his tirade and then they’ll be able to sort everything out again. Daryl’s not going to let this group fall apart again. “Why don’t – why don’t you go and find out yourself! Send me a postcard. Go on, there’s the door. You can do better? Let’s see how far you get.”

            Everyone’s watching Rick nervously, feeling anxious about the loaded gun in his wavering hand. Daryl isn’t nervous or anxious. Daryl understands. Sometimes, this shit just gets to be too much, and Rick’s taking it out on them. Come morning, it’ll be a new day and they can move on from all of this. They have to, as a group.

            “No takers? Fine. But get one thing straight. You’re staying, this isn’t a democracy anymore.”

            T-Dog and Lori look ill, Glenn can’t hide the shock on his face, but Daryl glances over and sees the understanding in Hershel’s eyes and surprisingly, in Carol’s. They all know this is how things will have to be, now. They need a good leader, one who isn’t afraid to make to tough calls, and it’s clear now, that Rick is that man.

           

**”I don’t think you’re crazy, not at all. I just think that you might be looking at the wrong outlets for your emotional turmoil.”**

**“There ain’t no turmoil! God damn it. It just is what it is. I should’a been born with a dick!”**

            It’s only been a few days since they left the makeshift camp behind. They found another broken down vehicle in a small town and filled up everyone’s tanks with gasoline and bags with food. There’s not much to go around, but if Daryl can keep finding game before it gets too cold, they might be able to last out the winter. Carol and T-Dog take the new vehicle and the caravan becomes one car longer, with Daryl still in the front on Merle’s bike.

            The wind is cold on his face as he leads the group up and down various highways. They’re not travelling much, never too far on any given day, but they’ve got to keep looking for a safe place, because the days are getting shorter and their light gear won’t keep them warm enough if they’re stuck outside all winter.

            They stop in a larger town, just on the outskirts of Alpharetta, to decide where they’re going and what they’re going to do.

            “This place is big enough that there might be something worth keeping here. Some winter clothes, maybe.” Maggie says, shifting her weight.

            “We can go on a run,” Glenn offers.

            Rick nods – the group has been on eggshells around him for the last while, but he seems to be getting back to normal – less tyrannical, and more reasonable. “Take T-Dog with you,” he says, gesturing to the smallest vehicle they have. “Get whatever you can and get out. We’re not taking any chances. We’ll see what we can get for water and firewood while we wait.”

            Daryl doesn’t feel the need to stay for the goodbyes and he’s been longing for a bit of privacy for a while. He’s down to his last bottle and a half of hormones and even though he has everything else from the CDC, he can’t help feeling a bit jumpy about it all. Spending some time in the woods, with the quiet and by himself, just hunting, will do him some good.

            He waves to Lori and gestures with his crossbow so that at least someone will know where he’s gone, and saunters off into the woods. The one good thing about Georgia is that it really doesn’t matter where you go, there’s always gonna be some woods real close. It’s easy to pick his way through the fallen detritus on the ground, tip toeing over fallen branches and leaves to keep as quiet as possible. So when he hears someone snapping twigs and rustling leaves behind him, he knows it must be a walker or something for dinner.

            Daryl spins around, bolt notched and sights lined up, only to meet Rick’s face at the end of his weapon. “Should’a said something man. I almost made dinner outta you.”

            Rick offers him a small smile and shrugs his shoulders. “Findin’ something to eat?”

            “I’m tryin’. You makin’ all that noise won’t make it real easy.”

            “I wanted to ask you somethin’.” Rick followed Daryl all the way out here just to ask him a question. Daryl bites back his irritation – after all this noise, it’ll take him at least another hour to find something worth taking down. He hopes Rick’s question is a good one.

            “Shoot,” he says gruffly, swinging his crossbow over his shoulder. No point in keeping it out, now.

            Rick drops onto a rotting log on the ground and stares up at Daryl for a moment. He looks a little nervous and picks up a leaf, toying with it. “What was that back at Hershel’s?”

            “What’re you talking about?” Daryl isn’t sure what Rick’s referring to, but he wants to get this conversation over soon. His stomach is rumbling and he’ll be livid if he doesn’t get to eat tonight because Rick wanted to beat around the bush.

            “When you got shot. When we took your shirt off.”

            Daryl bristles. He’s upset that Rick has ambushed him like this. There was an opportunity for them to talk about it, and Rick let it pass him by. What’s he playing at, asking now? There’s a heat rising on Daryl’s neck and cheeks and he prays that Rick doesn’t mistake it for embarrassment.

            “Why’re you askin’ me now?” Rick says, his voice low.

            “I don’t know,” Rick says, and his voice betrays the sad honesty with which he speaks. “I guess I just thought, we’re all travelin’ together now, one group. I wanted…I don’t know,” he finally admits.

            “You just satisfyin’ some sort of curiosity?” Daryl spits. He won’t be turned into some sort of zombie-land freak show exhibit.

            “No,” Rick huffs. He looks at Daryl for a moment and then rises quickly from the ground. “Look, I’m sorry I brought it up. I was right before. It’s none of my business.” He reaches out and cuffs Daryl’s shoulder.

            He’s taken a couple of steps away before the word flies out of Daryl’s mouth. “Wait,” he calls. He’s not sure why he does it, or if he’s even ready to have this conversation with someone. But it’s been so long since Daryl’s been able to share this burden with someone and he wasn’t lying to Carol when he said he thought Rick had honour. The man standing in front of Daryl is a good man and Daryl is just praying that he can trust him. “I’ll tell you what it was, but you can’t tell anyone.” Rick nods. “I’m serious, man. You can’t tell Lori…nobody.”

            “I promise,” Rick says. Daryl knows that Rick means it right now, but something could happen down the road that changes the guy’s mind. Daryl just has to hope if that time comes, he’s not around for the fall out.

            “I’m…I’m transgender.” The word feels foreign in his mouth. Daryl remembers the first time he heard the phrase from a doctor – for years he had known there was something wrong but had never been able to put a title on it. He’s never told anyone other than his family and a few doctors that he’s talked to, so the word is still remarkably unfamiliar to him.

            “What?” Rick asks, cocking his head to side a little.

            “I was born…born a girl.” Daryl can’t look at Rick when he says it, can’t handle seeing whatever reaction the man has. Whether it’s disgust or hatred or confusion or pity. He can’t take any of them right now. So he focuses on a spot far off, a tall tree at the edge of the horizon and listens to Rick’s shuffling feet behind him.

            “You were born a girl?” Rick finally asks after a few moments.

            Daryl realizes his heart is hammering in his chest, loudly. He doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it until Rick spoke, but he lifts a hand and presses it to his sternum, trying to calm the tattoo it’s beating against his bones. “Yes.”

            “But you’re a guy?”

            “Yes. But I could never afford surgery.” Daryl isn't sure if Rick will understand the statement. Daryl lives in a world that most people don't know about and Rick's a man from a small southern town. Daryl doesn't understand half of the terminology his doctor used to use, and that was when they were talking about him.

            Rick doesn’t say anything else. Daryl can hear the man turn and leave the woods and he manages to keep it together until Rick’s loud footfalls have faded entirely. His knees buckle underneath of hims and he collapses to the ground, face crumpling in a silent cry. He feels simultaneously terrified and relieved about what will happened when he returns to camp. When Daryl told his father, the man beat him until he was blind from the pain. When he told his brother, Merle ignored him for almost a month. Rick’s reaction to Daryl’s truth is unprecedented, but just sharing the knowledge has made Daryl feel suddenly lighter.

            He gives himself 25 seconds to feel the tumult of emotions in his gut before rising and wiping the tears from his face. Daryl shakes his hands and gets his crossbow ready before heading deeper into the woods to find some dinner.

 

**“I want to get this straight, Daryl. You’re coming to me because you want to start hormone therapy, right?”**

**“How many times do I gotta say it? Yes.”**

**“Okay. All I need you to do is answer my questions. Eventually we’ll figure out if that’s right for you or not.”**

**“Eventually.”**


	7. Given

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING *** This chapter contains non-graphic descriptions of child abuse *** WARNING This is in italics at the beginning of the chapter - please pass by this portion of the chapter if you feel it may upset you. 
> 
> I know it's been a while since I've updated, and this chapter is short! I'm so sorry!! The next one should be up faster and should be longer. Both this chapter, and the next one take place during the void between season one and two, so I've taken some liberties (but still pulled from season two's script a bit!) I hope you enjoy it!

**“I want to get this straight, Daryl. You’re coming to me because you want to start hormone therapy, right?”**

**“How many times do I gotta say it? Yes.”**

**“Okay. All I need you to do is answer my questions. Eventually we’ll figure out if that’s right for you or not.”**

**“Eventually.”**

            _“Daddy, let go of me!” Daryl hates his high pitched voice, but he can’t help the scream. “You’re hurtin’ me!” His father’s fist tangles easily in Daryl’s matted hair and the drunken man drags Daryl’s body from his room. He can't help it when his flailing limbs smash into the walls, but at least his adrenaline rush keeps him from feeling the small pangs. “Stop it!” Daryl hates being a 16 year old girl more than anything. His body is small and he feels weak when all his dad has to do is move his arm to make Daryl’s body follow._

_His father hauls him into the living room, some black and white program is playing on the TV and there’s two drained bottles of Jim Beam on the floor. Daryl tries to get up from where he’s been thrown, just next to the faded sofa, but a heavy boot on his back stops him._

_“You don’t want to be my daughter no more?” his father’s words are slurred._

_“Just let me get up.” Daryl tries to be quiet. His dad always beat his mom the worst when she fought back. Maybe if Daryl shuts up, he won’t get hit too hard._

_“No, that’s fine,” his dad spits sarcastically. “Now I can give you the beating you deserve. Can’t hit a girl, can you?” His dad reaches down and rips the back of Daryl’s shirt, exposing his small back. “You can hit a boy though. Nobody ever said nothing against that.” Daryl tries to crawl away from his father, keeping himself low on the floor. He’s just reaching for one of the empty bottles, hoping he can knock his father out with a well placed swing of the glass container, when a sharp pain blossoms on his back. His father has hit him with something; it feels like a whip with metal on the end. Daryl drops flat on the filthy floor with a shout of pain. His father seems to revel in the yelp he coaxes from Daryl and hits him three more times, letting out a grunt of effort with each blow._

_“Daddy, please stop,” Daryl says, doing his best to sound like a little girl. He’s wearing jeans and button down but he’s still got on the training bra his mom bought him before she died and his filthy hair is still long. He only told his brother and father yesterday, so he’s hoping that maybe, just maybe, the fact that he still looks like his daddy’s little girl will save his ass. As the implement comes down on his back_ _again, Daryl sucks in a breath. The skin on his back is lighting up with pain and whatever his father is using to beat him slices through his bra, shredding the garment with two quick blows._

_Daryl tries to lift himself up on his forearms while his dad catches his breath, heaving with the exertion. When he turns a little to look at his father, he can see the extension cord the man’s been using to beat him, limp and bloodied in his father’s hand. Daryl risks crawling over to his father, staying low on the ground as he shuffles over on knees and elbows. “It’s me,” Daryl says, loathing himself for what he’s about to say. It’s a lie and he knows it, but Daryl doesn’t know how far his father will take this. He's terrified that the man will kill him if he isn't able to put an end to it. “It’s me, daddy, your little girl.” His gut twists as he pushes the words out, struggling to move his mouth. He feels ill just saying them, but if they will save his life, he will say them over and over again._

_Daryl’s father looks up him through heavily lidded eyes. He’s so wasted, he can’t even see straight. He stares at Daryl for a moment, and Daryl thinks that maybe, just maybe, the filthy lie has earned him a reprieve. But suddenly his father lunges, drops the cord and wraps his hand around Daryl’s tiny throat. “I don’t have no little girl,” he hisses in Daryl’s face. The boy sputters and tries to pry his father’s fingers off of his neck, legs kicking out from under him in desperation. He can’t speak, his vision is going black around the edges. He arches his back up, trying to gain some leverage from where he’s sitting, but his father his bent over him, stronger than Daryl, even in his inebriated state._

_The door bangs open and Merle stumbles into the trailer, drunker than their father. Daryl and the eldest Dixon both look up at Merle in shock, Daryl’s small hands still wrapped around his father’s. “What the fuck?” Merle hisses, but he’s already bounding over to where they’re sitting, stuck in their sick tableau. He rips his father off of Daryl and picks up his little brother, swinging Daryl’s suddenly limp body over his shoulder, fireman style._

_“Leave her the fuck alone,” he says, voice dangerously low. “I ever find out you laid a finger on her again, I’ll kill you myself.” He carries Daryl into his bedroom and drops him on the bed, leaving and closing the door without a word._

            When Daryl wakes, he tries to ignore the unwelcome memory and the pounding his head. He drops his head back to rest on the arm of his sofa in the dark, cold space. The group found a storage locker depot just a short while back, empty except for a few walkers. It was easy to take them down and find some space for the group to hunker down safely, at least for a while. He discovered an empty locker with a moldy, old sofa in it and claimed it for himself. His privacy now means that when he wakes, with a gasp, he can at least enjoy the relief of knowing that no one will hear him and ask what’s wrong.

            Every night since he’s told Rick the truth about who he is, just over a week ago, Daryl’s been having nightmares: memories that morph into something else, fucked up and disturbing. Sometimes it’s exactly like it really happened, but sometimes a drunken Rick is beating the shit out of Daryl and even though he’s grown man, Daryl still pleads like a naïve little girl who’s petrified of angering her daddy. Those dreams are even worse, because Daryl wakes up feeling sick to his stomach and humiliated.

            But the worst nightmare, the one that makes it hardest to close his eyes in the dark, it when it’s him: a grown Daryl looking down on a sweet, 16 year Daryl, bringing that extension cord down upon himself with a heavy, violent hand, and looking so unrepentant while doing it. Daryl rolls over on the rank sofa, and wonders what his therapist would say if she knew what was going on in his head right now. She’d be having a field day, that’s for sure.

            A knock on the corrugated steel door jerks Daryl from his thoughts and he falls off the sofa to lift the door. T-Dog and Glenn are standing outside, looking as shitty as Daryl feels. The depot may be safe for them, but the storage lockers are freezing and offer no daylight whatsoever. They’ve only been here for a few days, but Daryl’s thinking everyone could use a trip outside, into the sunlight.

            “What is it?” he asks, his voice still rough from sleep.

            “We were thinking of going down to the lower levels, see what we could find,” Glenn says. He holds out a flashlight for Daryl. “Maybe some of the lockers haven’t been picked over yet. You in?”

            Daryl nods and takes the flashlight without a word, picking up his crossbow on his way out the door.

            “We can’t stay here much longer,” T-Dog says. Daryl can hear him chatting with Glenn, the two of them hang back while he clears the corners in the stairwell.

            “Why not?”

            “It’s not healthy. Living indoors, no sunlight. Man, I know Rick says this isn’t a democracy, but we’ve gotta talk some sense into him.”

            Daryl waves the all clear signal at the couple and they hasten to catch up with him. “I know you don’t like it in the dark,” Daryl grunts, opening a door to a long hallway, “but this is the safest we’ve been in a long time.”

            “Thank you,” Glenn says, shuffling sideways down the hall to take out a lone walker. “I can’t seem to talk sense into the man.”

            “I ain’t saying I disagree with you,” Daryl mutters. “I’m just sayin’ you’re gonna have a hell of a time convincin’ Rick.” He remains silent while the other two continue to bicker back and forth. They don’t find any other walkers while they scavenge the storage lockers in the lower levels, but they do find some canned goods and box of cereal that looks like there aren’t any bugs inside. There are a few sleeping bags and blankets and Daryl shoves everything into a large Rubbermaid bin, which he hands to Glenn to carry back upstairs.

* * *

 

            They’ve been in the storage depot for two weeks – Daryl’s been keeping track on the wall by scratching marks for each day. He’s been watching everyone, especially Rick, for funny, sideways looks. He’s been waiting for someone to kick him out in the middle of the night or attack him in his sleep. But no one is treating him any different, not even Rick, so Daryl has to assume the man has been true to his word.

            When Daryl was 16 and told Merle (as a test run for his father) that he thought he should live his life as a male, Merle ignored him for at least a month. (Assuming his father would do the same, Daryl told him only three days after…and boy, had he been wrong.) But, after the month of silence was up, Merle had had a lot of questions. “Is this just ‘cause you like girls? ‘Cause it’s better to be a dyke. Or do you still like dick? Are you gonna be a fag now? Does this mean you’re gonna get a dick, or somethin’? What’s gonna happen to your tits? Where did this come from? Is this just ‘cause you’re jealous of the boys?” The questions went on and on, most of them just as offensive as the last.

            So after telling Rick, Daryl is surprised when the man doesn’t show up in the middle of the night to drag him out of bed and terrorize him. He’s surprised that the man doesn’t squat next to him when they’re hunting and ask him something humiliating and inappropriate. Daryl only has the reactions of his brother and his father to go on, and he’s surprised by the decency with which Rick is handling the situation.

* * *

 

            One night, they’re all gathered by a fire which they’ve set in the office where there’s a window, waiting for the rabbits to cook. Daryl is next to Carol, who leans into him comfortably. Beth and Maggie are sitting with their father, Glenn hovering awkwardly at Maggie’s elbow. Rick, Lori and Carl are all huddled together under a comforter from their storage locker and T-Dog is on watch. Carol’s gentle warmth is a welcome presence for Daryl – she’s been a strong physical presence around him since they left the farm. He’s not sure if she’s flirting with him or not, and he wouldn’t know how to respond even if she was, but he’s not going to refuse the kindness she’s offering.

            Across the fire from him, Beth has a small frown on her face as she turns the spit that holds the rabbits, her father’s arm draped around her back. She’s young and reminds Daryl a little of himself before he started therapy. She’s kind and gentle, much more so than he ever was, but meek and scared of the world – and Daryl’s always been terrified of the world around him. He can see in her big eyes just how cautious she’s being around everything, tiptoeing around like she can keep shit from going wrong just by being careful. She doesn’t look anything like he did when he was teenager, but he can’t help being reminded of himself back then.

            Daryl remembers the year he finally admitted to himself something was wrong, when he finally told his family that a change needed to be made. He had always been something of a tomboy, growing up in a family of hunters had made that impossible to escape. Once, when he was 11, his mama had stayed home sick from work and let him play with her makeup, and he remembers feeling so beautiful. The soft brushes sweeping powder over his cheeks, bright red, tacky lipstick holding his lips together and dark eyeliner. He worked so hard to get the makeup to look like his mother’s, but never quite succeeded. Even now, decades later, he feels a gnawing guilt when he admits to himself that enjoyed wearing the cosmetics. It’s something he's never told his therapist, because he was sure she’d have held it against him.

            Regardless of the makeup wearing and the training bra shopping (also with his mother), by the time he was 16, Daryl knew he was supposed to be a boy. The hormone therapy had taken almost seven years to start, and his father had made Daryl pay for it all by himself. Daryl remembers being 23 and feeling like his life was just finally beginning and going right – pre-pubescent acne flare ups notwithstanding. He remembers when the Testosterone started really working, being excited by the deepening of his voice, and the darkening of the hair on his body.

            Daryl had always been a tiny thing, easy for his father and others to pick on, and when he started on his hormones, he also decided to start working out. He wanted to be strong – he wasn’t going to let anyone fuck with him anymore. There were countless pushups and sit ups done and when he was around 27, his father finally started letting him hunt with the boys (albeit begrudgingly).

            “Daryl?” Lori’s voice rips Daryl from his thoughts. She’s holding a plate with some meat and canned beans in front of him. “You in there?” she asks, a small smile on her face.

            “Yeah, sorry.” He takes the plate and nods his thanks, picking the rabbit leg up with his fingers and tearing into it.

            “What do you think?” Glenn asks him, looking at him skeptically.

            “’Bout what?” Daryl speaks around the mouthful of meat.

            “About leaving,” Glenn sounds as though it should be obvious. And maybe it should be – Daryl isn’t sure how long he spent in his Beth-induced flashback.

            “Leaving?”

            Rick nods, and it’s clear from his expression that he’s the one who put forth the idea. “Winter’s on our tails, and it might be enclosed here, but there’s no heat, and no food left. We’ve picked this place clean and we sure don’t have enough to last us all winter.”

            Daryl can’t help but agree with the man. It may feel safer to hunker down, but he knows they’ll be better off if they continue moving, looking for more food and warmer locales. He swivels his head in a sort of nod, and ducks down to shovel some beans into his mouth. He’s never much cared for being part of the decision making process. “Not much good huntin’ left around here,” he finally grunts, when the group’s silence tells him that they are waiting for an answer.

            “Right.” Rick says. Daryl isn’t looking up, but he can hear the miniscule triumph in his friend’s voice.

            “Where will go, though?” Maggie asks.

            Daryl rarely agrees with her, but he likes Maggie Green alright. She’s got guts, and she’s never afraid to speak her mind – even when her opinion is fucking stupid.

            “We’ll find a place,” Rick promises, his voice is still gruff. Daryl knows that whether everyone agrees or not, they're going to move on from this storage depot. Rick hasn't wavered in his leadership since his pronouncement of dictatorial leanings. “We’ll find a place with more firewood and hunting around. We’re too central here – too close to the city.”

            “So is it agreed, then?” Hershel’s voice is quiet, but there’s a finality to it. He only ever seems to chime in once he’s sure everyone else agrees with him. Or if he’s sure everyone else disagrees… “We’ll leave tomorrow?”

            “We’ll leave at daybreak,” Rick agrees. “Everyone pack it up and get some rest tonight. No telling how long we’ll be goin’ out there.”

            Daryl swallows the last of his dinner and sighs.

 

**“Do you know the name for what you’re experiencing?”**

**“What does the name matter? Don’t matter what it’s called.”**

**“It’s called a sexual identity crisis. You’re struggling with your perception of your sexual identity.”**

**“I ain’t strugglin’. I know what it is.”**


End file.
